


Fracture

by wwheeljack



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28729185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wwheeljack/pseuds/wwheeljack
Summary: A failed mission sees the Stunticons exiled from the Decepticons, and left with only themselves to protect each other. The Stunticons must learn to work together, and acknowledge the gestalt bond that ties them so closely together.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Menasor's design is that of Sarah Stone's IDW "The Sum and its Parts" look.
> 
> Transformers © HASBRO

Awareness came in a flash of muted yellow and a strange, harsh voice that he knew wasn't his. And there were other voices, more familiar than the one that woke him, echoing inside him but they weren't _his_. Nor was the voice that commanded him and the other voices to introduce themselves.

The hollow, deep voice - the one who flared anger and rage and loathing so strongly - spoke first, declaring himself Motormaster. A hiss of recognition and understanding snaked from the quietest thread, though it was not acknowledged by _him_.

And then the silver mech, who seemed to embody the very meaning of "threat", turned his optics to _him_.

He was the best. He was the fastest, the smartest, the best fighter, the cunning one - _he_ would lead. _Drag Strip_ would lead.

"I am Drag Strip! I live to obey!"

The acceptance and awareness of his name unlocked what few files had been hardwired into his frame. He was a Decepticon, a faction from a planet that had been embroiled with civil war for millennia. His task was to destroy the Autobots, the enemy of his birth faction, and destroy them without conscious. He was also _special_.

The silver mech, who stood before Drag Strip and the other four mechs gathered next to him, had no wheels but Drag Strip did. Decepticons flew, their mastery was the skies, as his few files noted. They had no use for wheels, and even scorned wheels and those that mastered the roadways.

But he'd been made to be the swiftest Decepticon - and he was a… _grounder_. Drag Strip had been made with a purpose, to counteract the enemies of the Decepticons where they excelled. He was _special_ and he liked the rush, the thrill, that stoked through him at the thought of displaying his speed before these enemies.

They would all come to fear his speed, both in battle and on the road, and the Decepticons would know _who_ was responsible. Drag Strip would be the leader, and he would show even the silver mech - Megatron - that he _was_ the best.

But, when Drag Strip and the rest of his team - something in his coding told him that all four were _his_ \- arrived on the Decepticon base and to Megatron's throne room, it was not Drag Strip chosen as leader but _Motormaster_.

_Motormaster!_

What did that mech have that Drag Strip did not have tenfold over? Motormaster wasn't as fast as Drag Strip, nor was he as smart or as cunning. What did the black and gray semi have that Drag Strip didn't?

He was _jealous_.

And, to Drag Strip's chagrin, none of the others even complained about the choice in leadership. Could they not see the threads of fury that dripped like oil from Motormaster? Did none of them realize that Motormaster did not think as quickly or as intelligently or with as much cunning as Drag Strip did?

They were idiots to not see that Motormaster would just lead them to failure - and then the Decepticons would look at Drag Strip in disgust, not admiration. And so resentment grew within Drag Strip, though he never let his team know of the origin behind his feelings.

He had learned the gestalt bond quicker than any of his other "brothers" - it was the only word in his coding that could easily define the relationship Drag Strip had been forged to feel with the other four mechs - and had twisted and turned it until he could decide what to reveal to his brothers. Breakdown and Wildrider knew nothing of his manipulation, nor were they smart enough to formulate their own sides of the gestalt bond to their bidding.

Dead End didn't care and thus Drag Strip was bombarded by thorns of gray misery, a constant and aggravating presence he fought constantly. The pessimistic car was lazy, but it was _his_ red finish that drew all the attention from the Decepticons.

Drag Strip hated it, hated Dead End for drawing the Decepticons attention away from the one Stunticon deserving of it. And, to make matters worse, Breakdown drew comments and optics and snide remarks, all when the paranoid mesh of nerves wanted what Drag Strip hated the most - no mech looking at him.

Couldn't the Decepticons see who was the warrior of the Stunticons, the fastest car to ever terrorize the Autobots? No, they could not, and that only became more true when the Decepticons met Menasor.

Menasor was Motormaster's anger and Wildrider's unpredictability. He was Breakdown's chaotic, paranoid mind and Dead End's apathy - Menasor didn't care about anything for too long, and he'd only find interest for a short amount of time until he became unfocused. But it was Drag Strip's desires to be the best that pushed Menasor through his brothers' stalls and quirks, and made him the fierce soldier he was.

Drag Strip centered Menasor's purpose but no Decepticon _noticed_. The only Stunticon any Decepticon even talked to was Motormaster - and every single Decepticon _reviled_ the semi! Even Megatron paid his own personally forged team little mind.

Megatron had shown a degree of pride in Drag Strip and his brothers before their first battle against the Autobots, but that had changed the moment Superion and Omega Supreme had knocked Menasor unconscious. Megatron's special gestalt had failed and there was no one _but_ Drag Strip and his brothers to blame.

And blame he did, and that was the last time Menasor functioned as designed.

Drag Strip, Dead End, Breakdown and Wildrider had sulked in their shared quarters while Motormaster had gone to debrief with Megatron. Motormaster had not been able to block his gestalt brothers from feeling the semi's agony as Megatron beat him, striking him until the Decepticon leader had snapped Motormaster's jaw - punishment for his team's failure.

Motormaster had limped to their quarters and, without warning, beat each of them as badly as Megatron had he. From that moment, Drag Strip hated Motormaster and Menasor knew.

Menasor struggled in every fight since that day against Omega Supreme and Superion, so at war were his components' minds that the combiner had become the laughingstock of the Decepticon forces. Even Bruticus and his treacherous Combaticons were more well regarded.

Drag Strip hated the Combaticons and hated Motormaster, and he'd even grown to hate Megatron. If Megatron had chosen him as the leader, the Stunticons would be feared and respected by the Autobots and their fellow Decepticons alike. But _no_ , he chose Motormaster.

A hiss of hot air above Drag Strip's helm sent a bolt of fear shooting through his backstrut and, though he already knew who was behind him, Drag Strip turned and gave Motormaster a coy smile.

"Heard of fuel cleaner before, Motor _breath_?"

Rage brushed his field and scorched the bond before the expected fist smashed into Drag Strip's faceplate. He _felt_ his plating dent under Motormaster's fist astroseconds before his chassis smashed against the wall of the hallway.

A smirk played its way across Drag Strip's mouth as he slowly gathered himself to his pedes and faced Motormaster, who was grinding his denta as he stopped in front of Drag Strip and glared down at him. "When will you learn respect, Drag Strip? I am your leader, not some mech you can insult whenever you desire."

"It was no insult, Motormaster, just a harmless suggestion that may help how the other Decepticons react around you," Drag Strip said. He shifted his stance deliberately and flared his panels in a preening manner, and he received the response from Motormaster he had desired.

Motormaster's optics flickered for a moment as confusion from the semi's gestalt bond prodded roughly at Drag Strip's own. Motormaster had always been the most frustrated by the gestalt bond, and how easily his smaller brothers had adapted to the bond, all while Motormaster tried to hide from the revealing bond. It was a vulnerability that Drag Strip would not hesitate to use against his leader.

He needed to take any advantage against Motormaster, if he wanted to live. Motormaster was more powerful than Drag Strip or any of his brothers, and the semi took to reminding them of his strength over them by beating them down. Using the gestalt bond that Motormaster struggled with on every solar cycle to conspire so openly with his brothers was the only way to resist his anger.

"I don't appreciate you always trying to undermine me," Motormaster hissed. His digits twitched and flexed as if the semi wanted to strangle Drag Strip, but he resisted as the mech let steam hiss from his intakes in a display of frustration. "Back to our quarters _now_."

"Of course, Motormaster," Drag Strip smiled slowly, and then inclined his helm slightly to avoid Motormaster's gaze. Motormaster hated a challenge from one of his gestalt brothers, and Drag Strip wanted him to think that Drag Strip was cowed. "Anything for the best leader to ever grace the Decepticon faction."

Anger poured off of Motormaster's field at Drag Strip's statement for a _klik_ before the semi's faceplate scrunched in confusion and he tilted his helm to the side quizzically. His bond again pricked at Drag Strip, a curious thread of his signature black and purple that bashed against Drag Strip with his typical lack of control.

Motormaster _believed_ Drag Strip, though there was a hint of caution from the semi's bond as a flutter of pride raced through his field. The semi stared at Drag Strip for a _klik_ before he jerked his servo in the direction of the Stunticons' quarters. "To your quarters."

Drag Strip nodded, ducked under Motormaster's left arm, and walked with quick purpose towards the quarters he shared with his brothers. He knew when and where to push Motormaster, and going for his leader's pride was the only way he knew to smooth out any potential blow ups from the mech. But he had to be careful with just how much he praised Motormaster, lest his eldest brother realize Drag Strip was mocking him.

The quarters were, for once, silent. Dead End was reading in the corner, while the doors to Breakdown and Wildrider's rooms were shut. Drag Strip greeted Dead End as he plopped over the giant, Stunticon sized couch Wildrider had made from an assortment of stolen human material. It was comfortable though downright hideous, made with an array of mismatched fabrics that burned Drag Strip's optics.

Dead End didn't even bother to look up from his data pad when he responded to Drag Strip's greeting with a tired, flat voice. Drag Strip's mouth quirked slightly but he vented and, stretching his legs out across the couch, relaxed.

But it was a relaxation that lasted only for a few _kliks_ before the heavy tread of Motormaster stopped outside the door to the Stunticons quarters. Drag Strip quickly straightened up on the couch, his digits curling at his sides just as Motormaster entered their quarters. The semi headed directly towards Drag Strip, though he stopped an arm's length from the couch. Purple optics shifted towards Breakdown and Wildrider's rooms before Motormaster crossed his arms and, his bond tight, he sat down on the couch beside Drag Strip.

Drag Strip shuffled to the very edge of the couch as Motormaster settled his large bulk down to the creaking, groaning protest of the couch. Motormaster shot Drag Strip a glance before he jerked his helm towards Dead End and beckoned the Porsche to join them on the couch.

Dead End looked up from his datapad and shook his helm as he sent a jerking wave of apathy through the bond. Motormaster scowled beside Drag Strip before he sent a very loud and very demanding wave of anger to Dead End.

_::. Join us_ , _.::_ Motormaster demanded loudly. His voice shrieked through the bond, untempered by inexperience, but it was his use of the bond that piqued Dead End's interest from his data pad.

Dead End looked up from his data pad, his visor and mask hiding any expression, and gave an uninterested shrug. "Fine."

The Porsche settled in between Drag Strip and Motormaster, crossed his legs and let disinterest wash over his field. None of them spoke, and a tense, awkward air crackled between the three Decepticons. Drag Strip, at least, didn't mind. This was better than Motormaster screaming at him.

Stupid, arrogant, cruel semi.

"Stop that," Dead End suddenly hissed from beside Drag Strip, anger crawling like oil through the bond.

Drag Strip flared his plating and opened his mouth to retort - he hadn't done _anything_! - when he felt Motormaster's frame tense. His typical anger matched Dead End's as it curled and flamed from the semi's field, so heavily and chokingly that Drag Strip had to resist his every instinct to scramble away from the two mechs. Motormaster would beat him to an unrecognizable shape if Drag Strip moved.

"Stop what?" Motormaster snarled defensively. The plating along the semi's shoulders bristled and lifted as sharp vents hissed his displeasure and his fans heaved.

But Dead End did not care as Motormaster glowered down at him and, with a bored vent, Dead End picked at the plating of his right arm. "None of us enjoy you stumbling around in the bond like an overcharged fool, least of all while you block all of us out and hit us for even approaching you."

Primus, Dead End was brave, that or insanely stupid. Drag Strip liked challenging Motormaster - that was what any ambitious mech would do - but he knew how to challenge the semi without driving Motormaster into a fit of rage. Dead End just didn't care enough about what Motormaster did to him to curb his glossa. Drag Strip admired that in his pessimistic brother, and it was the only time he'd willingly concede a "loss" to anyone.

And it was to none of Drag Strip's surprise when Motormaster suddenly punched Dead End off the couch, sending the red mech sprawling to the ground. Dead End staggered onto all fours and wiped at his mask, brushing away a trickle of energon before he slowly got to his pedes and faced Motormaster.

Motormaster got up from the couch - the sudden shift of weight almost sent Drag Strip off the couch - grabbed Dead End's shoulder, and yanked him forward so that their chest plates were practically scraping against each other.

"Shut up!"

Dead End's bond seethed as he lowered his gaze from Motormaster's optics, though he did not speak until Motormaster lowered him to the ground. Dead End brushed his plating absentmindedly before his engine ticked over, and his fans stirred.

Before Dead End could retort - he seemed almost obsessed with snark - a hard rap on the door that led out of the shared Stunticons quarters snapped his mouth shut. Drag Strip got to his pedes to answer the door but a harsh look from Motormaster stopped him in his tracks.

The semi stalked to the door and opened it, revealing the short form of Rumble. Motormaster bristled at the appearance of Soundwave's cassette, and his tone told his dislike of Rumble when the semi snapped, "What do you want?"

"Lord Megatron wishes to see you for a mission debrief, Motormaster," Rumble smirked, "says he's been comming you for the last few _groons_. Our lord grows impatient."

Shock and embarrassment blasted from Motormaster like a shot from a cannon, though he tried to mask it with a threatening snarl that he directed towards Rumble. "I have received no communications from Lord Megatron. I would never ignore any comms from our lord! Are you suggesting I would ignore him?"

"I did not intend to imply anything," Rumble hurriedly interjected as Motormaster drew himself to his full height over the Cassetticon, "I was just told to locate you."

Drag Strip felt Motormaster's rage shift slightly, quelling into the core of his spark, where it would stew and snarl and hiss until the semi unleashed it upon Drag Strip or his brothers. Plating lowered and his fans stilled, quieting until Motormaster straightened and jerked his helm. "Lead the way, Cassetticon."

Rumble glared at Motormaster before he nodded and headed down the hall, Motormaster following just behind him, the heavy tread of his pedes fading finally.

Drag Strip's fans stilled as Motormaster's imposing presence left the room. "Hopefully Megatron will keep him occupied for awhile."

"He might," Dead End intoned, his helm turning towards Drag Strip with a shrug of his shoulders, "but Motormaster will blame us nonetheless for him not receiving Megatron's summons. Maybe he'll deactivate one of us. He's angry enough as it is."

Drag Strip stared at his brother before he shot him a glare and crossed his arms over his chestplate. "You saw to that, 'End."

Dead End's visor sparked slightly - the only hint of his expression - before he shrugged his shoulder plate and vented. "I was satisfied with where I was. He had no need to order me to the couch. I do not have any personal liking for that appalling display of Wildrider's organic obsession."

"Yeah, but you talk to him like you want him to deactivate you."

"As if you don't do the same," Dead End retorted hotly, defensively even. He was getting mad. Drag Strip could feel it, though he could tell Dead End was attempting to temper his anger behind his usual wall of " _I don't care"_ facade.

Drag Strip snorted at Dead End's defensiveness, and was about to tease Dead End when the soft creak of Breakdown's door opening drew his gaze to where his anxious brother was peering out of his room. Breakdown's digits were clenched and he was keeping himself small as his optics snapped around the living room fearfully.

"Is he gone?"

"No, he's hiding under the couch," Drag Strip sneered, "and he's watching _you_."

Breakdown's optics widened as he stumbled back into his room, the sound of crashing metal and a squeak of pain quickly drowned by the frantic hissing of his fans. The lights in the living room began to flicker as the tell tale snarl of Breakdown's engine began to reverberate through the room.

Dead End shot Drag Strip a cold look before he got up from the couch and stalked into Breakdown's room.

"Good going."

Drag Strip jumped at the sound of Wildrider's voice behind him and whirled around to face the red faceplate of his brother. Wildrider was marcometers from him, so close that Drag Strip could feel steam hissing from his intakes, with a scowl that looked more like Motormaster than Wildrider.

"You should apologize to Breakdown," Wildrider suggested coldly. He was sounding abnormally lucid for Wildrider, a fact that made Drag Strip's plating bristle.

Crazy Wildrider made sense. Wildrider was _always_ crazy. But calm, normal, not-crazy Wildrider? Drag Strip didn't like him that way at all. At least crazy Wildrider was predictable.

"Shut up, Wildrider," Drag Strip countered, "Breakdown needs to brave up. And it was a _joke_."

Wildrider blinked and then suddenly snarled at Drag Strip, who hurried backwards and drew his gravity gun from his subspace instinctively. Drag Strip's optics widened when he realized what he was about to do, and quickly stored his gun back into subspace. Wildrider looked unamused as he crossed his arms over his chest plate and slowly gestured towards Breakdown's room.

"Fine," Drag Strip vented before he turned on his heel and walked into Breakdown's room slowly.

Breakdown's room was sparsely decorated, with only his berth and a datapad occupying the space. The Stunticons had found out about Breakdown's paranoia on their first night of existence, when he'd suddenly woken all of them from their recharge by flinging every object out of his room. He'd been shrieking about cameras so loudly that it had taken Motormaster tackling Breakdown and smothering him into the ground for the Lamborghini to finally relax. Since then, Drag Strip and his brothers had to be careful about anything they brought into their quarters.

Drag Strip didn't fancy Breakdown shooting another of his die-cast models of his alt mode he'd found. Losing one was more than enough.

Breakdown was hunched over, his knees pressed against his chestplate, in the northernmost corner of his room. Dead End was crouched down beside Breakdown and was patting Breakdown's right shoulder slowly.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright?" Primus, Drag Strip hated apologizing. It wasn't natural to him, not in any way. That was _Breakdown's_ speciality. "It was an ill-mannered joke. Motormaster's at a meeting, he's not hiding under our couch. He couldn't even if he was here. He's too big, if you remember right."

Breakdown refused to look at Drag Strip and he only burrowed further into himself as Drag Strip spoke. Humiliation was shockwaving off his field, slamming against Drag Strip without remorse.

"I'm sorry," Drag Strip vented. "I shouldn't have teased you-"

"Leave me _alone_!" Breakdown spat as he jerked to his pedes and glared at Drag Strip. Drag Strip took a surprised step backwards at his brother's aggressive stance, then scowled.

He turned on his heel and stalked out of Breakdown's room to see Wildrider slouched over the couch and watching the television. Wildrider's optics shifted towards Drag Strip then away as a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. Drag Strip glared at Wildrider before he sat down on the opposite end of the couch, scowling irritably as he glowered at the television.

Breakdown was the only one of the Stunticons who couldn't take a joke, and Drag Strip had known that. He hadn't thought much of Breakdown's anxiety - it was suffocating and downright frustrating sometimes - or of not poking at his brother' fears. Breakdown was supposed to be able to take a joke, especially when Dead End and Motormaster were able to at times.

_He's no less sensitive than you_.

Drag Strip ground his denta together angrily at the reminder. He was _not_ sensitive! Being sensitive was a Breakdown thing, not Drag Strip! There was nothing to be sensitive about anyways when Drag Strip was the best at everything.

_::. You are a slagging idiot. .::_ Dead End's comment was as monotone as a human child's television show, and equally as mind-numbing.

But it meant that his brothers had heard his every thought. Every single one of them.

"Oh, frag off, the lot of you!"

Drag Strip stormed into his room, slammed his door and angrily sent unpleasant thoughts through the bond - namely aimed at Dead End - to hide the insecurity that had clawed into his spark. He had always hidden the intense feeling that he was useless behind his arrogance and self-preening. Drag Strip hated that half of himself was all a lie, manufactured to hide that stupid, useless, worthless low self esteem of his.

The Stunticons didn't need to know that Drag Strip tried so hard to draw everyone's focus because he was afraid of reminding himself just how worthless he was. If any of his brothers saw what Drag Strip was really like, they would never let him be ever. He didn't want them to mock him and tease him…. just as much as he knew Breakdown didn't want to be the butt of an insensitive joke.

_Frag._

_::. Breakdown? I am sorry… really. .::_

No response came from Breakdown until, finally, Drag Strip felt Breakdown soften and vent through the bond. _::. I believe you, but I don't like being part of your joke. .::_

Drag Strip scowled irritably but nodded nonetheless. Silence overtook the Stunticons' quarters until the heavy tread of their eldest brother stopped at the door.

Wildrider straightened and stashed the remote controlled cars he'd been messing with under the couch, moments before Motormaster entered the room with a proud smirk. Drag Strip shot Dead End a look that was matched, though Dead End almost looked relieved to see Motormaster in a positive mood for once.

"We've been given a mission tomorrow, and one of great importance-"

"Let me guess," Drag Strip interrupted Motormaster before he could even process what he was doing, "we're going to watch that old missile silo and make reports every few _kliks_."

Motormaster stared at Drag Strip confused, until the semi blinked and, with his vents snarling quietly, flatly said, "No. The Decepticons are going to attack the Autobot base, and our mission is to strike the front and draw out the Autobots combiners, while Megatron leads the rest of the Decepticons in an ambush of their base."

"Oh, joy," Drag Strip muttered, "more time in Menasor's processor. I'm _thrilled_."

* * *

"You remember the plan, correct?" Motormaster hissed as he turned his helm towards Drag Strip and his brothers.

"Understood it the first one hundred times, Motors," Drag Strip smiled, playing up his excitement for the mission for his cranky brother's sake.

Motormaster nodded then, using the bond to snarl the order, ordered all five to merge into Menasor.

Drag Strip wanted to refuse - he hated the feeling of transforming into Menasor and _despised_ being in the combiner's head - but once the order was issued, no Stunticon could refuse.

Menasor was happy to be out, and given such an important task by Megatron - _take that Bruticus!_ He was the best gestalt, and always had been. Stupid Devastator was too purple and green and ugly, like the wrong side of a gas tank. Just… ew.

" _Menasor, now!"_ Lord Megatron always sounded so annoyed whenever he talked to Menasor, though Menasor could find no such reason for his moodiness. What did Menasor do wrong? He smashed and slashed and roared. Wasn't that his job?

"Menasor will destroy Autobots!"

There, play it up for the Autobots! _Come and get me, yeah! Fight the scary, big combiner! He's going to step on you, hehehehehe!_

Almost immediately, Superion and Defensor emerged, along with their tiny little companions that weren't even as big as one of Menasor's digits. He loved stepping on the small ones, especially since their chassis' made such loud hissing noises when they got crushed.

"It is unwise of you to attack us here, Menasor." Superion always sounded so high and mighty and, honestly, Menasor thought it made him sound like a taller Starscream. And Menasor _hated_ Starscream.

"Menasor is not stupid, Menasor's just havin' fun!"

With that roar, Menasor swung his sword straight for Superion and Defensor, taking measures to stomp at the smaller Autobots scurrying at his pedes. And the fight went well, with Menasor's components actually getting along for once, his processor was clear of their immaterial arguing and he could focus completely on the task.

_Distract Autobot combiners and step on Autobots. Easy._

Menasor had Defensor downed and was plunging his sword straight for Superion’s helm when his right leg suddenly started sending signals that made ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE. Fear, optics, yellow paint, _everyone's looking at me_ -

And then suddenly Drag Strip was Drag Strip once again, torn ruthlessly from Menasor by Superion. His processor was slow - like molasses, humans would say - and sluggish, trying to function after the sudden, impromptu tear of the combiner bond. He heard Menasor's voice distantly, along with the furious rage of Motormaster shrieking at someone through the bond… and then…

* * *

"Unbelievable! YOU SCREWED UP EVERYTHING!"

Motormaster had been screaming at Breakdown since the five Stunticons had been ferried back to the _Victory_ inside Astrotrain - yelling non-stop. Drag Strip wished he could tear out his audio receptors but he knew if he tried that Motormaster would only beat him down too.

Dead End was laid out on the couch, a miserable aura permeating all over his field, and for good reason.

The mission had gone to scrap and back. Stupid Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had emerged and mocked Breakdown long enough until Menasor had glitched, and Drag Strip had been ripped from the combiner. And everything had gone belly up after that. Drag Strip almost understood Dead End's pessimistic side now, if only because he did not want to show his faceplate anywhere near any of the Decepticons.

It was the Stunticons fault so many Decepticons were hurt… but it was Breakdown's fault more so than anything else, and Drag Strip was not going to let his gestalt mate forget the embarrassment they'd all suffered thanks to him.


	2. Chapter 2

The Decepticons _loathed_ them.

Breakdown could feel anger radiating off the fields of every single Decepticon they passed in the hallway, narrowed optics watching the Stunticons with murderous fury. He understood that his gestalt had failed - _he'd failed he'd failed they looked at him why do they always have to look at him?!_ \- and cost the Decepticons a crucial battle, but that didn't mean that they had to glare so darkly at him… right?

 _Wrong_ , the voice hissed at him, _it's because of you that the attack failed. Pathetic, glitched excuse for a Decepticon. Motormaster's right to punish you._

Breakdown hated the doubt that had manifested itself into a harsh voice that always lingered under his plating, snapping at him and chiding him, causing the nervous mech to doubt himself more than he already had from the moment Megatron had created him. It was almost as bad as the optics that were always watching him, following Breakdown everywhere he went, whispering and watching and _mocking_.

A hard nudge against his side brought Breakdown from his thoughts, though he instinctively ducked his helm to avoid the glare he knew Motormaster was sending him. But an impercitable touch across his backstrut from Wildrider drew his gaze to the Ferrari's smirking faceplate, moments before the Stunticons entered the refueling chamber.

The noise and chatter of voices that always occupied the refueling chamber cut off the nanosecond Motormaster's hulking frame, and the four smaller, lighter frames of his team mates, emerged into the chamber. Breakdown felt every optic in the refuel chamber turn towards him, and it took all of his willpower and complete and utter _terror_ of Motormaster's wrath that kept him from immediately bolting from the room.

Fear constricted his spark and kept his optics practically glued to the floor as Motormaster drew to a halt in front of Breakdown and his brothers and, with malice snapping off his EM field with the intensity of a forest fire, glared down every Decepticon in the room.

"Any Decepticon who has an issue with me or my team are welcome to say it to my face, if you're brave enough to try." Motormaster's voice was unusually calm, though his field continued to burn with anger, and the ease in Motormaster's words drove ice through Breakdown's entire chassis.

Motormaster was scary when he yelled at Breakdown and his brothers, and terrifying when the large black and purple mech unbottled his rage upon his team but no words could describe the fear that a calm Motormaster put into Breakdown. Motormaster was not calm - Breakdown had a sneaking suspicion that Motormaster had no idea how to be calm, just like Wildrider had no idea how to be still or quiet, or Breakdown to not be nervous and timid - and had never been. So, whenever the semi's hollow voice was quiet and without its usual rage, all the Stunticons knew that he was beyond his normal level of rage, and to avoid him at all costs.

But the other Decepticons didn't know the Stunticon leader as well as Breakdown did - that or they didn't care.

A chuckle that was like steel wool crackled from Vortex as the Combaticon helicopter turned to face Motormaster from a booth further down the room, his team turning to face the Stunticons before the helo spoke. "Keep playin' tough, Motormaster, we're all _so_ afraid of you. What are you going to do, attack us with your glitched mess of a combiner? We wouldn't even need Bruticus to defeat Menasor at this rate, isn't that right, _Stunti-fails_?"

Rage bristled off every Stunticon at Vortex's jab as Motormaster's servos clenched together and his denta ground together. Drag Strip took a step forward and roared something in retort to Vortex that was drowned from Breakdown's audials by the pulsing fury-rage-embarrassment-blame- _Breakdown's fault_ that crawled through the gestalt bond from Motormaster.

He couldn't remember any time that Motormaster's emotions had been so easy to sense through the gestalt bond, least of all at such an unbidden, unchecked level. There was an underlying anger at Breakdown that simmered in the pit of Motormaster's spark and, buried underneath all the resentment and fury that seemed to fuel the leader of the Stunticons as much as energon did, was doubt.

Breakdown froze as Motormaster's many conflicted emotions stormed through their shared gestalt bond, quashing every other one of the Stunticons until Breakdown felt the fury turn inward, away from the Decepticons and directly on him.

_::. GET OUT! .::_

The command punched Breakdown away from Motormaster's bond as if the semi had actually punched him physically, staggering him backwards as purple optics burned against him. Breakdown sent a nervous apology to Motormaster through the bond, as soft as a gentle tap on the shoulder plate, before he retracted his bond and kept as far from Motormaster's bond as possible.

He noticed Drag Strip snarling in the direction of the Combaticons, his plating raised and voice loud, before Brawl suddenly jerked to his pedes, a livid anger sparking in his optics.

The Combaticon tank stalked towards Drag Strip, who bristled at his approach but straightened, an arrogant huff of his intakes penetrating the stiff air of the refuel chamber. Breakdown tensed himself for the fight that he knew was coming-

"You fragged up glitches aren't even _worthy_ of being Decepticons! Megatron had to be slagged out on high-grade when he made you pathetic excuses for cars, there's no other explanation for why he'd create glitches like you!"

The taunt came from a group of Decepticons to Breakdown's left, though he could not distinguish the mech who had spoken. Brawl froze as Drag Strip turned his helm to the left, hatred rumbling from his field as the race car forgot entirely about the tank mere macrometers from him.

Wildrider hissed beside Breakdown, his digits snapping open as the red and gray Stunticon tensed beside him. Motormaster turned his helm towards the offender's voice, though Breakdown noticed that his leader never once truly dropped his guard from the Combaticons. Only Dead End seemed unbothered by the comment, as Breakdown surmised that his pessimistic brother agreed with all his spark with the taunt.

They _were_ glitches, Dead End would say, and Wildrider wasn't the only one who made comments about Megatron's state of mind when he had created them - though none of them said as such near Motormaster, of course. Motormaster worshipped Megatron and the semi would not hesitate to pound them into dust if any of the Stunticons joked about the leader of the Decepticons.

"At least we're glitches who don't hide in crowds!" Drag Strip spat towards the group of Decepticons, his temper rising.

A snort hissed from a different Decepticon, before a sneering voice curdled the air. "Yeah, 'cause poor _Breaky_ would be watched! All those optics staring right at him. Isn't he why Menasor failed, Motormaster?"

Breakdown flinched as Motormaster's optics snapped to him for a moment that felt eternitys long, before those purple optics wheeled on the source of the voice. Motormaster stalked towards the group of Decepticons and drew his sword from subspace, though he let the point angle towards the ground with a loose grip on the pommel.

All the Stunticons hated being mocked and ridiculed by the other Decepticons, but even Motormaster and his headstrong, short tempered rage knew that starting a fight with another Decepticon would not bode well for their team. But Motormaster's control was dangerously thin this solar cycle - and Breakdown was quite at fault for that.

The Decepticons _were_ right. Menasor had been holding his own against Defensor and Superion while the Stunticons tried to distract their enemy from the Decepticon ambush, but those mean, _evil_ little Autobot brothers had come out of nowhere.

The yellow one had started to mock Menasor, though he had directed his taunts specifically to Breakdown and specifically about multi-opticed Autobots that were coming for him. Breakdown's minor moment of fear had distracted Menasor - who functioned properly only when the Stunticons' minds were quelled behind the giant combiner's bond blocks - long enough for Superion to tear Drag Strip off of Menasor.

The combiner had freaked and lunged for Superion, but the loss of Drag Strip's connection broke what little control Menasor's mind had over his components. Dead End's pessimism was drowned out only by Breakdown's overwhelming fear as the yellow Autobot continued to mock him specifically, pointing out shadows and glints of light he claimed were cameras and optics and watchers.

Menasor had no idea what to do as Breakdown's fear became Menasor's and pushed the combiner into a fit of nerves. Defensor and Superion left him there, the remaining four components arguing and driving Menasor's mind into a frazzled mess of shorted out wires. Their combiner raged at himself and expelled all of his energy on the shadows that were hiding optics and cameras, until a neutralizing blast from that malevolent yellow Autobot struck Menasor down.

And, with no Menasor distracting the two Autobot combiners, there was nobody left to ward Defensor and Superion away from the main Decepticon attack. Which failed remarkably, thanks to the swift and well timed neutralization of Onslaught and Swindle. No Combaticon leader or jeep meant no Bruticus, and Devastator stood no chance when Superion blasted a hole through Hook, practically crippling the mighty combiner.

The Decepticon attack had failed and left more Decepticons injured than they could afford, all because Breakdown was a coward who couldn't handle being stared at by a nasty little yellow Autobot.

Oh, he'd heard the comments from the other Decepticons, but his brothers' anger at him was what really hurt. Even Dead End was unhappy with him, though he phrased it in such a way that Breakdown couldn't help but feel as lowly as those strange Earth creatures the fleshies called _worms_. He'd cost the entire faction a battle, and wound Onslaught, Swindle and Hook all in the medbay. All three of whom were far more useful to the cause than Breakdown was, as so many Decepticons had made quite clear since they had all fled back to the base.

"Maybe somemech should show Breakdown what he should really fear." The suggestion came from a large helicopter, one who Breakdown did not recognize, as the black and green Decepticon emerged through the crowd. He stopped only a length from Breakdown and the rest of his gestalt, and glared up at Motormaster with narrowed red optics.

Motormaster maneuvered himself in front of Breakdown before his leader lowered his helm to the Decepticon helicopter's faceplate and snarled. "No mech but _I_ disciplines my team, Rotowash."

Rotowash met Motormaster's gaze and then, with his blades fanning out from the swashplate affixed to his backstrut, smirked. "Then why don't you show us your method of discipline, Motor _breath_."

There was a nanosecond where Motormaster did not move, his rage warring with restraint, but all of the Stunticons already knew which would win. With an enraged roar, Motormaster struck Rotowash, reeling the helicopter backwards before the semi delivered a hard kick to the Decepticon's chestplate.

Rotowash hit the decking hard, but sprang up with a furious screech of his loud engine and lunged into Motormaster. Breakdown leapt backwards as Motormaster struck Rotowash towards the Stunticons, just barely dodging being cut by one of Rotowash's blades. The helicopter leapt away from Motormaster and, suddenly, agony ripped through Breakdown's chassis as sharp digits tore through his forcefield and into his thick plating - their fields were nearly impenetrable in vehicle mode, but their fields were much weaker in root mode.

Rotowash's clawed digits tore fissures through hard plating, the suddenness of his attack removing any chance Breakdown had to defend himself. The helicopter pinned Breakdown to the ground, though he struggled to quash Breakdown's powerful force field as Rotowash's right servo transformed into a fusion cannon and jerked under his chin.

Breakdown thrashed and clawed at the helicopter, engine revving desperately-

Energon splattered over Breakdown's chassis as hot air burst from Rotowash's intakes. The Decepticon's helm jerked down to the middle of his chestplate, where a sword - _Motormaster_ 's sword - had been thrust through his plating.

Anger sparked from the helicopter before he was jerked off Breakdown and, unceremoniously, dropped beside him. Breakdown stared at the still chassis of the Decepticon before he turned his optics up to meet Motormaster's hard gaze.

There was anger present in Motormaster's optics as he reached down to Breakdown with his left servo, and pulled him to his pedes. Breakdown could not face Motormaster as he lowered his helm and fixed his optics on his pedes. He expected Motormaster to strike him, cuff him upside his helm, but all he felt was a brief flash of roughly hidden comfort wash over his field.

Breakdown froze in place at Motormaster's contact, though he did not dare meet his leader's gaze. Motormaster never comforted the Stunticons, or even allowed his EM field to brush against his brothers', and it was a strangeness that did not feel wrong as much as it did not feel _right_. But Breakdown would take his leader's attempts to reassure him over being punched any solar cycle.

 _::. Frag, Motormaster did Rotowash in good. Megatron's not going to be pleased. .::_ Drag Strip's muted comment drew a strange flurry of emotions from Breakdown's brothers through the bond.

Dead End's bond flickered with a weak pulse of apathy before he let his intakes hiss from beside Breakdown. _::. We're all going to be offlined. We deserve it. .::_

Breakdown gulped as he stepped away from Rotowash's prone chassis and leaned closer to Motormaster. His dark tempered leader did not move away from Breakdown, nor did Motormaster retract his field from Breakdown. Breakdown liked this side of Motormaster, when the semi felt more like his brother than an angry, dark tempered leader of four misfit Decepticon cars. But this Motormaster never stayed, not when he had to be as strong and fierce and as mean as every other Decepticon.

Raised voices from the Decepticons suddenly were silenced when, as if he'd been there the whole time when Breakdown knew he hadn't seen the communications chief earlier, Soundwave stepped forward.

"Stunticons: report to Lord Megatron."

Soundwave moved closer to Motormaster, his gaze shifting towards Rotowash's chassis before Motormaster let out a low growl. There was a surge of complete anger and frustration that leaked like spilled oil from Motormaster's bond, but he bowed his helm and ordered the Stunticons to follow him as Soundwave departed from the refuel chamber.

Breakdown glanced towards Wildrider before he followed Motormaster, sticking as close to the semi as he could. Wildrider strolled beside him with a cheerful expression that Breakdown could tell was a mask. Wildrider's bond stuttered nervously, and his plating shifted subtly. None of the Stunticons liked meeting with Megatron even on good days, but Breakdown was honestly terrified of having to face Megatron and explain their repeated strings of failure and the fact their leader had deactivated a fellow Decepticon.

Megatron had liked the Stunticons when he'd first made them, the Decepticon leader had even been _proud_ of them, but now he hated them. The Stunticons had been made personally by Megatron to be Autobot killers, but they had never lived up to Megatron's expectations. Breakdown hated having to stand before the Decepticon leader and read the embarrassment that hissed from his plating. The Stunticons were failures in the optics of every Decepticon, including Megatron.

His engine had begun to whine with processor aching shakes when Soundwave stopped before the entrance to Megatron's chamber and turned towards the Stunticons. "Megatron is ready for you."

Motormaster jerked his helm in a strained show of restraint, a formality that even the most oblivious Decepticon could tell was a struggle for the semi. Soundwave said nothing as the Stunticons entered Megatron's chamber.

The leader of the Decepticons showed no emotion, not even his plating betrayed a scrap of his thoughts to Breakdown, and he only afforded the Stunticons a cool greeting when they entered. Motormaster, being Motormaster, was his typical loud self in saluting Megatron and proclaiming his loyalty to the Decepticon lord. Breakdown wouldn't say it out loud but even he was getting the sense that Megatron found Motormaster's usual spiel _aggravating_.

"I have no patience for your groveling, Motormaster."

Motormaster froze in place, a stunned expression sharpening across his faceplate before the semi lowered his helm and snapped his mouth shut. Megatron's intakes took a long hiss before his optics shifted around the Stunticons - Breakdown shivered and jerked his helm away from that searching, _knowing_ gaze.

"Soundwave reported your team's failure during today's mission, but I want to hear _your_ explanation for yet _another_ failure on all of your parts." Megatron still looked calm but Breakdown could hear the large Decepticon's intakes hissing faster as his fans activated - he was very clearly furious at the Stunticons.

Motormaster opened his mouth to answer Megatron but a raised servo from the Decepticon leader stopped the semi before he even had formed a word on his glossa.

"An explanation from _Breakdown_."

Breakdown's spark froze as his fans stilled and left him all too aware of how uncomfortably warm he was standing next to his brothers in front of Megatron. He could feel his brothers' shock through their bonds, though he also noticed that same anger and blame that he had felt since earlier that solar cycle. All of them were glad it wasn't them who Megatron had personally addressed.

Fighting back his terror, Breakdown swallowed back the swell of energon that had risen to his mouth and met Megatron's hard optics. "It was my f...f-fault. Menasor was f...f-functioning as he had been ordered," _oh Primus, why did he have to stutter now?! In front of Megatron!?_ , "until the scary yellow Autobot started s...s-saying-"

"The _yellow_ Autobot?" Megatron sounded scornful as he crossed his arms and tapped his digits on the armrest of his throne. "You are telling me Menasor was felled by _Bumblebee_?"

"N...n-no!" Breakdown stammered. "The mean one! Sun-sun-something? Sunspot? Sunfire? Sun-"

"Sunstreaker," Drag Strip added coldly.

"Yes, Sunstreaker!" Breakdown nodded - _oh Primus, Megatron looks like he's going to shoot me!_ \- and shifted a worried glance to his brothers for a moment. He pleaded to them for assistance but none responded, and Drag Strip even snarled at him through the bond.

"Go on," Megatron hissed, "tell me how the _mean_ Sunstreaker defeated the combiner team I personally created, all by his lonesome!"

_Oh, Megatron is definitely going to shoot me. Hopefully it won't hurt too much._

Breakdown flinched and scuffed one pede against the ground before he glanced towards Megatron, though he could not meet the Decepticon leader's optics full on. He knew if he did he'd purge all of his energon and even further embarrass himself and his brothers.

"Sunstreaker told me that there were Autobots watching me everywhere. That I was f...f-funny-looking. He told me that all of the Autobots and even Teletraan-1 were watching _me_ specifically. I...I-I…"

"You were combined into Menasor while Sunstreaker was bothering you, correct?"

"Yes, Lord Megatron."

"Then, pray tell, how could you not just step on that Autobot!?"

Breakdown hung his helm and shrunk his shoulderplates inward, a useless attempt to make himself a smaller target. "I...I… Menasor… he was distracted because of me. Superion tore Drag Strip off of Menasor and…"

"Menasor had too much to concentrate on, being that he'd lost part of himself and his right leg kept whimpering about optics watching him," Drag Strip interrupted as he shot Breakdown a hateful glare. "Menasor wasn't able to fixate on his mission thanks to Breakdown's uselessness, and Superion and Defensor left to aid the Autobots against your attempted ambush. We were not able to hold Menasor together long enough to get him to follow after the two Autobot combiners, nor were we able to warn the other Decepticons of the incoming Autobot reinforcements."

"And this all happened because," Megatron's optics snapped back onto Breakdown, practically scorching him alive with their fury, "you believed some slagged Autobot's trickery?"

Breakdown nodded and shuttered his optics, ready for Megatron to finish him off right then and there. But Megatron did not as he let a disgusted snort hiss from his intakes.

"You are a complete and utter disgrace to the Decepticon cause and, even more embarrassing, a personal creation of mine. Your entire team has only ever failed me, Motormaster, and I have grown wearisome of it."

"Lord Megatron?" Motormaster actually sounded _scared_ as he took a slight step forward.

Megatron ignored Motormaster's comment, though his optics did slowly shift towards the semi - Breakdown swore he saw even Motormaster flinch when Megatron's red optics narrowed fractionally upon him. "And you better have a good reason for deactivating Rotowash, Motormaster."

"Rotowash attacked Breakdown and was attempting to deactivate him, Lord Megatron. I killed him to protect Breakdown - you need our gestalt-"

"No, I do not _need_ any of you. You have all been failures since the moment you were created!" Megatron snapped.

"But, Lord Megatron, Menasor is-"

"A dysfunctional glitch," Megatron interjected, "who can be waylaid by a simple Autobot trick. I have tolerated your team's string of failures up to this point because, Motormaster, I believed you capable of controlling your team. That was clearly a mistake on my part to even believe you capable of anything, let alone to trust you with the command of the Stunticons."

Motormaster lowered his helm at Megatron's reprimand, shame, embarrassment and self-doubt clawing through the bond. Breakdown attempted to comfort Motormaster through the bond but he was blocked from even approaching by sudden, harsh walls and an angry growl.

"You have demonstrated that you are more loyal to your gestalt than you are me, Motormaster," Megatron said coolly.

"No, that wasn't- I had to-"

"You decided to save a useless soldier," Megatron snarled, interrupting Motormaster once more, "and took one of my soldier's lives. If you were loyal to the Decepticons, you would have let Rotowash kill this _glitch_. And now I am commanding you to kill Breakdown. Prove you will listen to me over anything else."

Motormaster's optics turned to Breakdown slowly, as unreadable as his blocked off emotions. Breakdown started to shake and took a slow step back as Motormaster slowly shifted to face him. He could see the anger in Motormaster's optics, could feel the heat of his engine and see steam hissing from his intakes, and could even feel a pulse of indescribable emotion from the semi's gestalt bond.

Megatron crossed his arms and watched, impassive and uncaring as Motormaster's servo snapped around Breakdown's neck plates and the semi jerked him off his pedes. The leader of the Decepticons _wanted_ Breakdown deactivated, and by the very servos of his gestalt leader.

Tension corded through his neck as Motormaster's grip tightened around his throat, crushing the metal within his ironclad grasp. Breakdown clawed at his brother's digits in a vain attempt to pry Motormaster off his throat. Warnings flashed at the corner of his vision, red flares that screamed as circuits and wires popped in his neck.

"M...M-motormaster!" His vocalizer was more static than words, a desperation that called through his bond.

Motormaster did not respond, not out loud or through the bond, though his grip loosened on Breakdown's throat ever so slightly. Breakdown clung to Motormaster's arm as his pedes kicked the air uselessly, terror nearly purging his fuel tank as he met the gaze of his leader.

Rage had engulfed Breakdown's entire frame from the semi's field, and it simmered just as angrily within hollow purple optics. Breakdown thrashed in Motormaster's grasp but relented when he felt no sign of release, and lowered his optics. Motormaster would do anything to appease Megatron, even deactivate Breakdown and _oh Primus_ he hated how much he sounded like Dead End.

_::. Motormaster, please! Don't deactivate me! I'm sorry! I messed up, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! .::_

Motormaster growled at Breakdown's plea and tightened his grip on his throat plates, though not harshly enough to deactivate him right then and there. _::. I am following orders. .::_

 _::. But we're gestalt! .::_ Breakdown reminded quickly, even as Drag Strip, Dead End and Wildrider kept eerily quiet through their bond. _::. Please don't! I promise I will make it up to you! I will do anything! .::_

_::. Megatron wants you deactivated, and I will see through to his command. .::_

But then Motormaster's grip went shockingly slack, dropping Breakdown to the floor nanoseconds before the semi fell to one knee, shock and confusion warring over his faceplate. Breakdown staggered as his pedes attempted to balance himself, his arms wheeling until he was steady on his pedes.

Motormaster did not move from his kneeled position as Breakdown stared at his leader, unable to fathom what had made the semi drop him. And, judging from the shifting of metal and the loud snarl of a furious engine, Megatron was as displeased by Motormaster's display as Breakdown was shocked.

"I ordered you to deactivate him!" Megatron hissed as he suddenly swept down from his throne and stopped in front of Motormaster. "Are you refusing a direct order again, Motormaster?!"

Embarrassment surged from Motormaster's bond as he jerked his helm up to meet Megatron's gaze and scrambled to his pedes. His field was sharp with surprise, and jagged with pain that almost knocked Breakdown off his pedes. "I… I didn't- No, Lord Megatron! I didn't-"

Megatron glared into Motormaster's optics and Motormaster looked away. Shock rippled from Drag Strip and Wildrider, their bonds finally opening and allowing Breakdown into the Stunticon fold once more. None of the Stunticons had ever seen Motormaster back down, not even from Megatron, who the semi respected and almost worshipped.

"Then why did you disobey me?" Megatron asked, his voice scary calm.

Breakdown shot his brothers a nervous glance as Motormaster's gaze jerked towards him with an expression that was astoundingly confused, and it was confusion that met Breakdown's gaze from his three brothers.

"It was not my choice to disobey you, Lord Megatron," Motormaster quickly explained, "I was following through with your command but the gestalt bond… it wouldn't allow me to deactivate Breakdown. I can't."

Megatron shuttered his optics for a long nanosecond before he suddenly thrust his fusion cannon against Motormaster's chestplate and shoved the semi against the wall of the throne room. Motormaster jerked his helm away from Megatron's furious gaze as the Decepticon leader shoved himself against the semi's chestplate, left servo clamped over Motormaster's shoulder while his sharp digits dug into his shoulder plate.

Fear washed over the gestalt bond as Megatron's intakes billowed steam, the sound of coolant fans the only sound available in the throne room. Even Wildrider kept quiet, though he moved closer to Breakdown, digits searching and clasping around Breakdown's arm as the gray Stunticon's shoulder plates dug against his side.

Breakdown sent a worried question to Dead End through the bond as Megatron and Motormaster squared off against the wall, neither mech speaking as their optics bored into each other. Dead End shook his helm and sent a measure of acceptance through the bond that did nothing for Breakdown's growing fear.

Megatron was going to deactivate Motormaster and then Breakdown and his brothers, and it would all be Breakdown's fault.

"Breakdown, don't!" Drag Strip's harsh snarl cut through Breakdown's thoughts, snapping his attention to the loud snarling that his engine was producing.

Breakdown flinched and attempted to calm himself down, lest his engine's vibrations mess everything up even further, but _calm_ was anything but what he was feeling. And he hadn't been feeling calm since he'd messed up the mission against the Autobots.

His engine revved harder, causing the lights in the throne room to flicker and drawing Megatron's red gaze directly onto him. Megatron threw Motormaster away from himself and stalked towards Breakdown, the sight of the Decepticon leader making his engine pound.

Megatron hissed and staggered, left servo clutching his helm as Breakdown's engine rattled off a keening shockwave. Anger spat from Megatron's engine moments before the Decepticon leader let out a snarl of rage and jerked his fusion cannon straight towards Breakdown.

"NO!"

A bellow of fury and the roar of a deep engine preceded the sight of the black and purple semi ramming into Megatron, knocking him against the wall just as Megatron's fusion cannon fired. The blast hit Motormaster's undercarriage, scything through his forcefield as if it were nothing, and sent the semi to the ground in a heap.

"Motormaster!"

Breakdown didn't think before he ran to the side of his stricken brother, who had transformed out of his alt mode. Motormaster's intakes heaved and snarled with hot air as the semi struggled to his pedes, clutching at a section of his chest plate that was torn and bleeding energon. Slowly, and with a great dose of nervousness, Breakdown maneuvered closer to Motormaster and cautiously grabbed onto his arm.

He felt Motormaster's bond flicker with surprise before the semi looked down at him-

"TRAITORS!" Megatron's roar snapped Motormaster and Breakdown's gazes to where the Decepticon leader was pushing himself to his pedes, fusion cannon already primed as it centered on Breakdown. Motormaster pushed Breakdown behind himself and reached for his subspace, only for the crack of Drag Strip's gravito-gun to send Megatron hurtling across the room, weightless.

"We have to get out of here!" Drag Strip roared as he shot the still floating Megatron one more time and, without waiting for Motormaster's command, transformed into his alt mode.

Dead End and Wildrider looked between Drag Strip and Motormaster and then followed after their smaller brother's lead, leaving Breakdown to hesitantly look up at Motormaster. Motormaster was staring after Megatron's floating chassis - who was screaming and attempting to shoot the Stunticons with his fusion cannon, only for his weightless frame to make aiming impracticable - and seeming oblivious to the others.

"Motormaster?" Breakdown whispered, his vocalizer still filled with noticeable static as he tugged at Motormaster's arm gently. "We have to go. M...M-Megatron will kill us once he regains gravity. We can't stay here, not after we attacked Megatron."

The semi took what seemed like an insufferably long _klik_ before his helm moved down to face Breakdown and, with a scowl that seemed strangely distant, nodded. Breakdown transformed as Motormaster did, though the semi hesitated one nanosecond longer before he ordered Breakdown and the rest of his brothers to move.

The five Stunticons roared down the hallway, blasting past Decepticon after Decepticon - and Breakdown could have sworn he saw Wildrider hit one Decepticon who wasn't quick enough to jump out of the way - until they reached the docking tower's lift. Alarms had begun to screech throughout the hull of the _Victory_ , which meant that Soundwave had seen everything.

Dead End attempted to activate the docking tower, but it did not respond, and only let a shriek pierce the air. Breakdown flinched and shifted closer to Wildrider, who was looking around quickly and twitching, digits tightening over the grip of his scattershot gun tensely.

The sound of voices shouting was growing closer to the Stunticons' location, and Breakdown couldn't help but shudder. He knew that they were going to be caught and then Megatron would have them tortured - he could almost hear Vortex's high laugh already and it sent a shudder through his backstrut.

"We are doomed," Dead End intoned from behind Breakdown. "I cannot access the docking tower's controls and the rest of the Decepticons are headed this way now. At least it will be swift, if Megatron is merciful."

"Shut up, Dead End," Motormaster snapped.

Dead End shrugged in response but did as Motormaster ordered.

"They'll have to catch me first," Drag Strip boasted, though even Breakdown could hear that there was no confidence in his brother's words. Every single one of them knew that Dead End was right, they _were_ doomed. And it was all Breakdown's fault.

But then Breakdown heard a snarl from Motormaster that seemed to shake the entire floor of the control room. He felt a surge of pure, spiteful determination snarl through the semi's bond before he pulled his energon sword from subspace and stabbed it through the docking tower's controls. Electricity shot from the control screen and then the docking tower's door opened, though it gave off an all too worrying creak.

"Into the lift, now!"

Motormaster needn't have repeated himself again before the Stunticons hurried into the docking tower, so close to each other that Breakdown felt his right pede crush Drag Strip's pede under his own. Drag Strip swore at him and shoved Breakdown forward roughly against Motormaster, who whirled on them both and snarled.

Breakdown flinched, expecting to be struck - or choked again - but Motormaster only turned away, just as the dysfunctioning lift smashed to a stop, jarring every Stunticon off balance.

"Move!" Motormaster barked as he suddenly grabbed Breakdown by his spoiler and threw him out the docking tower's above ocean entrance.

Breakdown fell for a moment before he activated his anti-gravs and waited for his brothers. Wildrider, Drag Strip and Dead End stopped beside him and then Motormaster stopped before them.

"We're doomed, even if we do escape the Decepticons," Dead End said as he gestured to the docking tower behind them. "You may have damaged it, but Soundwave will have it repaired before we can get too far from the _Victory_."

"Then we need to move!" Wildrider piped up. His voice was louder than normal, set at a pitch that drove like nails into Breakdown's processor, a clear indicator of his own stress. Breakdown tried to reassure Wildrider through the bond, but there was too much energy from his brother for him to do much more than allow Wildrider to sense his presence.

Motormaster scowled darkly before he turned and, using the bond, spoke to his team. _::. Move to the nearest shoreline. Find a place underground where we can better mask our signals. I will catch up later. .::_

Breakdown startled at the semi's words but he did not argue. With a final glance back to Motormaster, who had charged his sword with energy, Breakdown turned towards the nearest shoreline and followed his brothers.

* * *

Wildrider was the one who found the cave, buried deep within a mountain somewhere called _Alaska_. They'd made landfall over Washington but had flown northeast for some hours - Dead End had suggested it to lead a trail away from their final destination - before they'd landed in some part of central Canada and then had driven all the way to Alaska.

Drag Strip had been close to losing it when Wildrider had spotted a cave entrance flanked by trees, and it had taken a cursory check from Dead End's radar to find the cave safe. Breakdown was tired, and his wheels ached and protested as he shifted closer to Drag Strip, who had fallen into a moody recharge mere _kliks_ after the four Stunticons had settled into the cave. Wildrider had slipped into recharge without a second thought, though Breakdown wasn't so easily able to recharge.

Dead End had been on watch, his attention focused outwards as his radar searched for Decepticon signatures, since they'd arrived and hadn't spoken a word to Breakdown. Breakdown felt awkward sitting next to his brothers in recharge while Dead End did something useful. He hadn't felt useful or needed since before the battle which had led them to this mess.

"If you continue to blame yourself for our situation, I would politely request you close off your bond," Dead End suddenly said from across the cave, his tone as low as a flat tire as his visored gaze turned towards Breakdown.

Breakdown jerked his optics away from meeting his brother's gaze and scuffed at the ground with his right servo, picking up a clump of rocks that he threw across the cave. The rock shattered against the opposite wall of the cave and trailed to the ground in a small flurry of dust. "But Menasor got distracted because of me. I let Sunsky-"

"Sunstreaker."

"Sun _streaker_ tricked me. If I hadn't, Menasor would have been successful in distracing Superion and Defensor."

Dead End let a vent hiss from his intakes before he stood and approached Breakdown, stopping in front of him and kneeling down so that he was only inches from Breakdown's faceplate. "Yes, we lost that battle because of Menasor failing, but that isn't why we are in _this_ situation. Motormaster was ordered to deactivate you and he failed. Motormaster and Drag Strip attacked Megatron to protect you and the only option we had was running or being deactivated.

"But there is no point in putting blame on any one mech here, Breakdown," Dead End vented, "because we are going to deactivate anyway. We have no energon reserves, and no supplies but for our weapons and what little we had on us before Megatron ordered the meeting with us. What do any of us know about harvesting energon, or fending for ourselves with our enemies hunting for us every moment of every solar cycle?"

Breakdown stared at Dead End before he lowered his helm and wrapped his arms around his chestplate protectively. "I didn't notice any of you try and stop Motormaster from deactivating me."

"What would have been the point?" Dead End vented. "Megatron would have deactivated us for interfering, Motormaster for letting us interfere and then he would have deactivated you just for failing the mission."

Anger sparked through Breakdown so strongly that he felt Drag Strip's field beside him shrink away and Dead End's visor flickered with the mildest display of surprise. "But-"

The sound of metal dragging over rock snapped Breakdown's mouth shut and jerked his helm to the entrance of the cave, and the hulking frame of Motormaster standing in the mouth of the cave. Breakdown knew something was wrong the minute Motormaster stumbled towards his brothers and suddenly fell to the ground with a mighty crash of metal.

 _::. Motormaster! .::_ Breakdown ran to his fallen leader's frame, skidding down beside the semi as he slowly reached out and touched Motormaster's faceplate.

Motormaster's optics flickered open slowly, though they passed over Breakdown and stopped on Dead End, who stiffened very slightly at his leader's gaze. "Did… any Decepticons… follow you?"

"No," Dead End shook his helm, "and I have been scanning for Decepticon signals since we landed here. What happened to you?"

"I disabled the docking tower… but Onslaught and Vortex… got out before the tower went down. I led them away from your trail and… did my best to fight them off, but Vortex got one of his rotors into my side. Forcefield was damaged by Onslaught's cannons, but they lasted long enough."

Breakdown saw Dead End shift around to Motormaster's right side, where he leaned down and then let out a low whistle. "It's a deep injury, but your nanites should be able to fix you up - eventually. Unfortunately none of us were prepared for being on our own, so we do not have a repair kit to repair your injuries."

Motormaster growled in response as he attempted to raise himself up, though the semi had to stop and rest on his servos as his chassis shook from strain. Breakdown reached for Motormaster and, to his complete surprise, was not pushed away when he took Motormaster's left arm and helped him stand.

Dead End moved under Motormaster's right arm and, together, they helped move their injured leader to the back of the cave. Motormaster slumped against the cave and lowered his helm, his mouth turned down into a hard scowl that did not reflect in his optics. Breakdown cast a glance towards Dead End as his pessimistic brother ordered Motormaster to recharge, stood, and once more moved to the mouth of the cave.

But Breakdown did not move as he hovered by Motormaster's side, a flurry of questions on the tip of his glossa but unable to be voiced. And so he hovered, until Motormaster finally looked up at him and let a hiss snarl from his engine.

"What do you want, Breakdown?"

Motormaster sounded angry, but it was a tired, frustrated anger that seemed less potent than Breakdown was used to from the semi. And the bond didn't help with deciphering his leader's thoughts, not when they swam in circles around such strong emotions as hate, rage, and anger. He was as unreadable as Motormaster always was, and it made Breakdown nervous.

"Why… why didn't you let Megatron deactivate me?" The question had been nagging at Breakdown's processor since they'd escaped the _Victory_ , but he was afraid of the answer. What if Motormaster did want to deactivate him and-

"I can't deactivate you," Motormaster snapped as he shot Breakdown a glare.

Breakdown froze and stared down at the ground, embarrassed. Clearly he'd said that stupid idea out loud. _Stupid Breakdown_.

"The gestalt bond would not let me deactivate you, even when Megatron ordered me to do as such. It… I don't know what happened but _something_ stopped me. I couldn't make my chassis move, even if I wanted to."

"You did want to deactivate me though, didn't you?"

Motormaster met Breakdown's optics for a long _klik_ before he vented and looked away from him, closing himself off from Breakdown. "I am loyal to Megatron. I follow his orders."

"But you attacked him to defend me! That's not f...f-following his orders!"

Anger burned from Motormaster's field at Breakdown's response, and it was such a familiar anger that Breakdown took a couple instinctive steps away from his leader. The semi glowered at him and then turned his back on Breakdown, a snarl from his engine a clear, yet wordless warning.

"Leave me alone."

Breakdown opened his mouth to respond, to say something, to-

"Go _away_."

Breakdown's engine heaved and he immediately backed away from Motormaster, scurried to Wildrider's side - who was still in recharge - and curled against his frame. Wildrider's arm looped around Breakdown's shoulder plate and pulled him close and, though he was nestled against his brother, Breakdown could not recharge.

Not with the thoughts clawing through his processor. It would be awhile until he was even able to calm himself down enough to _think_ about recharge.

* * *

"So what's the plan, oh smart one?"

Drag Strip's snide comment drew Breakdown out of his recharge, though he was still so tired - as he had only fallen into recharge a _groon_ ago - that Breakdown did not move but to open his optics just enough to see Drag Strip, Dead End and Motormaster talking across from him. Wildrider was leaned against Breakdown, his engine rumbling easily in his recharge, oblivious to the argument mere marcometers from the two of them.

Motormaster still looked angry and there were traces of energon still leaking from his wounds, but the semi looked much better than he had when he'd stumbled into the cave. Drag Strip, on the other servo, looked as angry as Megatron as he glared up at Motormaster.

"We have no provisions, no energon, nothing whatsoever, and we're stranded out in the middle of this Pit forsaken tundra. You're supposed to be the leader," Drag Strip scoffed in disbelief and disgust as he gestured in Motormaster's general direction, "but you have nothing in the way of plans on how we will survive."

"What is there to plan for, Drag Strip?!" Motormaster snarled. "Do you want to lead the Stunticons this badly?"

Drag Strip froze for a moment then leaned close to Motormaster, who met his glare with his own and snarled. "I should have been made leader when we were created. We wouldn't be in this mess if _I_ was the leader."

"So you would have deactivated Breakdown if Megatron asked?"

Drag Strip froze, his digits clenching and unclenching with anger as his bond roared with disbelief and fury that Motormaster would _dare_ suggest something like that. "I would never deactivate Breakdown because Lord Megatron told me too. Frankly, Megatron's not all he's cracked up to be. Though it would make sense why he'd pick _you_ to lead us and not me. Megatron enjoys incompetence."

There was no warning from Motormaster before the semi struck Drag Strip, throwing the yellow race car across the cave, as he let an angered snarl escape from his mouth. Drag Strip landed near Breakdown and pulled himself to his pedes before he shot Motormaster a blistering glare.

"I hate you."

Drag Strip turned on his heel, transformed and raced out of the cave, leaving behind the foul stench of exhaust and burnt rubber as he peeled away from the cave. Motormaster scowled and tried to stand, though Dead End stopped him with a servo on his shoulder.

"I will speak to Drag Strip. He cannot be out in the open for too long, or the Decepticons will find us and deactivate us. It might be best if you figure out our next steps, though. Drag Strip is not entirely wrong in his statement."

Motormaster looked away from Dead End as he transformed and raced after Drag Strip and, as Breakdown watched nervously, lowered his helm and let his shoulder plates sag with defeat.


	3. Chapter 3

Wildrider hated the quiet, but he hated when Motormaster was silent even moreso. And Motormaster had been far too quiet ever since he had attacked Megatron and the Stunticons had fled the _Victory_. They hadn't seen any Decepticons since they had fled, but Wildrider knew that he and his gestalt brothers had been kicked out of the Decepticon warship and the faction entirely after their attack on Megatron - and they were being hunted.

He didn't know when the semi would snap but each solar cycle that passed, each one strengthening the dark silence from Motormaster, made him ever more aware of the fact that Motormaster _would_ snap.

The Decepticons had all called Wildrider crazy, and they weren't wrong. All the voices in his head and hallucinations were not "normal", by any Cybertronian ideal. But where the Decepticons were wrong was the general consensus that the Stunticons were stupid.

They were anything but. Crazy and glitches and fragged in the processor upon creation? Yes. Stupid? No.

Dead End was the only Stunticon acknowledged as "little bit more than stupid" by the other Decepticons, but that was alright by Wildrider. His pessimistic, brooding brother was the bookish one, the only one of the five who deigned to spend more time reading than he did anything else - aside from polishing his paint and bemoaning their inevitable deactivation.

The other Decepticons saw a bookish snob and four psychotic cars. They didn't see Breakdown's ability to read other mechs feelings from the subtle movements of their chassis. All of Breakdown's inability to meet the Decepticons' optics opened an avenue to him knowing every single mechs every feeling, just by the involuntary shifting of their plating. Nor could the Decepticons see the unwavering loyalty to the Stunticons the paranoid Lamborghini had. Breakdown was the glue that kept the Stunticons together. They needed him.

And Dead End's pessimism hid Wildrider's ability to adapt to situations, affording the Ferrari his unwavering spirit. Wildrider didn't let a scrapped up mission go to his processor like Onslaught would, it wasn't in his coding to linger. He had to adapt to the situation to keep himself and his brothers alive.

No Decepticon would ever acknowledge the wily cunning of Drag Strip, who would find an answer in anything if it meant he would win and get _everymechs'_ attention. Drag Strip may not be as experienced a manipulator as Starscream but the race car knew how to finagle possessions away from others if it would benefit him.

And then there was Motormaster, no tactical genius like Onslaught, but Motormaster wasn't dumb. He was young, like Wildrider and the others, but the semi refused to let the Decepticons judge him for his age. Motormaster dwelled into the annals of Cybertron's history, and studied the entire Decepticon faction fanatically - his drive was as heavy as his voice, layered with the understanding that he and his brothers had been thrown helm first into a world with no preparation. The semi would not allow himself to be at a disadvantage, not when every Decepticon but for Megatron hated him and his Stunticon brothers implicitly on the _Victory_. And, for as brutal and hard and unrelenting as their leader was, Motormaster would never leave one of his brothers behind. He would fight through the spawns of the Pit to rescue a downed Stunticon, and mercy be to those who lingered near his stricken brothers.

The Stunticons weren't stupid, but they weren't prepared to be on their own. Dead End's vocabulary and knowledge would not find them energon, Breakdown's awareness of emotions and thoughts would be no help in protecting them, Drag Strip's cunning would get them nothing, Motormaster's drive had already stalled, and Wildrider could only adapt so much to such an unexpected and unplanned for emptiness.

He hated it.

The Stunticons had been made _as_ Decepticons. They had no choice but Decepticon. That didn't mean they wanted to be Autobots, by any means, but Wildrider and his brothers were programmed specifically to be the exact opposites of the Autobots. They were intended to be vicious, dangerous Decepticons from the moment Megatron had conceived of their creation, but now they were nothing.

Five young mechs lost in a world they were all too new to. They were scared and uncertain and lost.

And starving.

Their reserves had already run low, and their force fields had shut themselves off in an attempt to save whatever energon they did have. One well aimed shot from an Autobot or Decepticon could very easily deactivate Wildrider or any of his brothers.

As Dead End would say, they were doomed.

A sudden presence that was cloaked in gray waves of anxiety, and underlined by a strain of agitated pink, drew Wildrider from his thoughts and to the small white Stunticon that was hovering near him. He gave Breakdown a small smile - while avoiding looking directly at the paranoid Stunticon - and pressed his shoulder plate against his brother, while he sent a calm thread of warm earth through the bond.

Breakdown glanced up at Wildrider and then burrowed against him, digits tight around Wildrider's right arm as the gestalt bond flared a frustrated orange before it turned shockingly violet and burned with an overwhelming surge of inferiority. Breakdown had been quieter than normal since their exodus from the Decepticon forces, and even his bond had shut out most of Wildrider's curious prying. He had become harder to read than Motormaster, and Wildrider did not like it.

Breakdown was supposed to be the one always trying to talk to his brothers, the one who always was _there_. Now he was closed off and only showed flashes of nerves through the bond. Even his field, as drawn in as it always was, gave no emotion but a dullness that made him seem more like Dead End than Breakdown.

_::. Decepticon signatures 175 miles out. Three Seekers, headed west from their current position. .::_

Dead End's warning rippled through the bond boredly, though it was only a cursory one and not out of any worry from Dead End himself. Dead End refused to do anything but sulk in the cave since they had fled the _Victory_ , and it took threats from Motormaster - threats that sounded half-hearted and without the typical Motormaster venom - to make Dead End do anything at all. It was very un-Motormaster-ish - to even get Dead End to activate his radar and search for enemy signatures.

Wildrider saw Motormaster, who was lingering in the back of the cave and had been for _groons_ , straighten and snarl lowly. _::. Monitor their positions and report if they get close to our location. Understand, Dead End? .::_

 _::. I understand clearly, .::_ Dead End responded flatly.

Motormaster growled through the bond before he lowered his shoulder plates and once again resumed staring at the floor of the cave. Even from across the cave, Wildrider could feel Motormaster's field surging and sparking with conflict. The semi hadn't made a single decision or leaderly choice since they'd gone into hiding.

It was downright weird, and not the good kind of weird, but the weird that made Wildrider's plating crawl and his processor scramble for explanation. And Wildrider was certain he wasn't hallucinating his leader's reluctance to make decisions. He couldn't be, not when the bond crackled the truth - and the gestalt bond was the only constant Wildrider knew he could center on. It never lied and never fabricated images.

He could trust the gestalt bond, even if it meant revealing truths he did not particularly like. Talking to his brothers through the bond, or even just feeling their emotions, helped keep the voices that crawled under Wildrider's plating at bay.

The first warning came with a searing red, anger and frustration and hate all rolled into a sword that pierced the bond. And then came the snarl, a voice coated with gunpowder, ready to explode. Drag Strip had snapped.

"So this is our fate? We're just going to hide in this Pit forsaken cave until we deactivate from starvation? What the frag is wrong with you? I'm _sick_ of standing around and moping! Sick of it!

"If _this_ is all we are to do, then why the _hell_ did we escape? For Primus' sake, I'm not sitting around here any longer!"

Drag Strip's roar was as loud as thunder, so loud that Wildrider was certain the Decepticons Dead End had detected could hear his words as clearly as if Drag Strip was next to them. Breakdown seemed to share the same thought as he jerked up to his pedes and backpedaled to the very darkest part of the cave, only the sound of his worried engine and the glow of his optics visible. Dead End merely snorted air from his vents, while a scowl twitched across Motormaster's face.

"We have no method of obtaining energon," Motormaster growled, though his growl sounded oddly strained. Wildrider didn't like the sound of it. Very… unlike Motormaster.

"We may not," Drag Strip flared, "but there are energon mines in this state. I remember seeing coordinates for one that wouldn't be too far of a drive from here. We could make it there, even on our low reserves."

"And what would be the point of that?" Dead End groused. "The Decepticons would detect us, capture us and then we would all be deactivated."

"Not if we remove our transponders."

Wildrider hadn't heard Breakdown speak for so long - a few solar cycles felt like an eternity to him - that he gawked at his brother, though that only served to make Breakdown wring his servos and thread his engine worriedly. Quickly, Wildrider jerked his gaze towards the ceiling of the cave and apologized through the bond. Breakdown didn't respond to Wildrider, which worried him outright. Breakdown was acting very strangely.

He thought about questioning Dead End on what was bothering Breakdown, but a rumble from Drag Strip's smooth engine distracted him. His arrogant brother had a contemplative look on his faceplate that slowly morphed into a smile.

"Breakdown's right. We can remove our locators, though it likely won't be pleasant."

"And then what?" Motormaster asked.

Drag Strip's visor flickered for a nanosecond with doubt. Even his bond had lessened in anger, as a new, quieter hesitance intertwined with anger. "I don't want to stay in one place, waiting for the end, Motormaster. I would rather take the chance out there, against the Decepticons and Autobots, then starve here in this Primus forsaken cave."

"I agree," Wildrider added the moment he felt doubt surge from Motormaster. "We are all made for the road, not hiding in a cave."

Anger flashed in Motormaster's purple optics moments before the semi jerked up to his pedes, and stomped up to Drag Strip, who he glowered down at irritably. To Wildrider's surprise, Drag Strip did not even flinch as he met Motormaster's glare with crossed arms. Motormaster saw the challenge and, with a shifting of vents and plating, Wildrider saw his violent brother's servo clench at his side.

"What are you going to do, hit me?" Drag Strip snarled coldly.

"Maybe I should!" Motormaster retorted. Wildrider thought he saw sparks snap from his leader's frame, coating the semi's field, but a quick glance towards Drag Strip's optics showed no sign of the yellow Stunticon seeing what he had. He was hallucinating again.

But Drag Strip's rage was no hallucination, not when his plating was raised and his fans were screaming with exertion. Wildrider may be the crazy Stunticon, but Drag Strip was losing it. Even Drag Strip's side of the gestalt bond was fracturing, splintering like a snapped branch, stress fractures that worried Wildrider.

"It'd just be another one of Motormaster's terrible decisions," Drag Strip spat - Wildrider watched as another piece of Drag Strip's bond split, shattering like glass - as he jerked his servo around the cave. "Find shelter in a cave! Great, then what, Motormaster? You're going to beat us until we aren't just starving, but also unable to drive or walk? What will that accomplish? As much as I don't like it, we are _stuck_ together and we can only trust each other. Hitting me won't solve anything, Motormaster."

The grinding of Motormaster's denta was as loud as a firecracker, his field the sparks as aggravation burst off his chassis. Wildrider shot Breakdown a glance as Motormaster's servo clenched into a fist in front of Drag Strip, and was met by a deep worry from his anxious brother.

 _::. Please don't fight, .::_ Breakdown whispered quietly and, even through the bond, his voice wavered.

Motormaster's optics shifted down to Breakdown and lingered there, and lingered there for a time that seemed to drag on forever. Finally, Motormaster relented, his plating smoothing before the semi let a vent hiss from intakes.

Wildrider could see the walls around Motormaster's side of the bond - black and heavy, made of layers of steel - slowly crumble, just enough for Wildrider to see the faintest trace of his leader's sadness. Motormaster was always a wall, both against his brothers and yet also the wall that would protect his brothers from any threat. Sometimes Wildrider wondered what Motormaster hid behind his wall, what truths and lies the semi kept buried.

He knew that Motormaster was not as seasoned with the bond, not when his leader had sealed it off the moment the five Stunticons had understood what it was. Motormaster could command them through the bond but that was the limits of his knowledge, as his ability to transmit feelings and thoughts was not as trained as Wildrider's or the rest of his brothers.

Compared to his brothers, Motormaster was a mountain of steel and granite and frustration. Dead End was an ocean, calm and eddying at his brothers' bond, a calm front that hid the storm that was Dead End. Drag Strip was always burning, a scorching fire that hid the fragile ice bridge that was Drag Strip's insecurity. Breakdown was always earth, the mortar that kept the Stunticons together - but that solid, hidden strength never kept Breakdown together.

But none of Wildrider's brothers saw the bond as he did; he knew, because their stares when he'd asked about what his bond looked like were ones of shock. Breakdown had told him once, after constant prodding from Wildrider, that he could feel his brothers' emotions and thoughts in flashes of colors. Breakdown couldn't see the mountains or the fire or the ocean, as Wildrider could. And Breakdown had only become aware of Menasor's presence after they combined for the first time.

Wildrider had seen Menasor moments after he had been given conscious, a deep pulse of lightning that slumbered within each of his brothers, always waiting. And his lightning had only developed into a storm, buried underneath each Stunticons gestalt bond, upon the combiner rising from his slumber. Curiosity had led Wildrider to attempt conversation with Menasor, though he only ever received threads of lightning that were choked with too many emotions in return.

Menasor couldn't converse with Wildrider through the bond as he and his brothers could, but his presence - as hidden as it was underneath the others bond - was always there. Wildrider had spent many a long night where recharge eluded him conversing one-sidedly with the combiner. He couldn't, per se, define Menasor as his friend like his brothers were, but Wildrider didn't hate Menasor like he knew his brothers did.

_::. The Seekers are no longer in range. .::_

Dead End's words cut a riptide through the bond, leaving a sharpness in each Stunticons bond. Wildrider shot a glance up to Motormaster in time to see a strange flash of emotions that he couldn't name cross the semi's faceplate. But those faded to a scowl before Motormaster's intakes heaved and he let out a tired vent.

"Keep your radar alert, Dead End."

_::. Already am. .::_

A slight scowl tugged at the corners of Motormaster's faceplate before the semi slumped back down on the floor of the cave. Wildrider stared at Motormaster, mouth set in a quizzical line, before he felt Drag Strip brush past him.

Wildrider watched Drag Strip as the Tyrell lowered himself down near where Breakdown's optics continued to glow. He heard Drag Strip whisper something to Breakdown before the glow from Breakdown's optics shifted. A moment later Wildrider's paranoid brother emerged from the shadows, a surprisingly steel hard set to his jaw as he glanced quickly towards Motormaster then Wildrider.

"Our badges are the locators. If we tear our badges off and remove the wiring from our protoform, we can remove our signatures from the _Victory_ 's tracking system. At least, I believe it should f...f-function that way..."

Breakdown twitched noticeably and Wildrider saw, and felt, his brother shrink into himself as Dead End and Drag Strip scrutinized the Lamborghini. Wildrider checked the gestalt bond and noticed small rocks tumbling down from Breakdown's bond, reminiscent of the start of a landslide.

 _::. Ah, it should work! You're one of the smart ones. If you say it will work, I believe you! .::_ Wildrider nudged Breakdown's bond - though not gently - and enveloped his brother's anxious, tumbling link with his own.

Breakdown shot Wildrider a weird look before his bond accepted Wildrider's closeness. After a few short nanoseconds, Wildrider felt Breakdown calm slightly - enough that his engine stilled from its slowly building tremors.

Wildrider liked when one of his brothers responded through the bond. He always felt better knowing at least one of them was actually listening to him. He knew they didn't listen to any of his normal suggestions, by any means. Motormaster and Drag Strip typically acted like he hadn't even spoken - even when Wildrider came up with a brilliant idea!

(Well, the whole put-flamethrowers-on-Motormaster's-helm plan hadn't been his brightest. He still could feel the dents where Motormaster had stomped him into the ground over and over. Wildrider didn't play as "Wildrider-esque" pranks on the irritable semi anymore. He didn't actually like being beaten into scrap metal. It always hurt too much).

"-and then we will remove Wildrider's last."

Drag Strip's growl snapped Wildrider out of his thoughts and directly to his brother, who was looking just over Breakdown's helm as he spoke.

"My _what_ last? Why me? What are you removing?"

_What did I do wrong? Please don't remove my vocalizer!_

But, judging from Drag Strip's furious glare, Wildrider knew that he'd clearly missed something. And the snarl of Drag Strip's voice made it even more clear.

"Do you _ever_ pay attention, Wildrider? We're talking about our transponders, you daft slag-helm. We have to remove them to lessen our chances of being discovered by the Decepticons. How _many_ times do I have to say this?! Do you have to act stupid right now? _Now_?!"

Wildrider blinked and then scuffed his pede against the ground. He didn't like when his brothers called him stupid - not when he already knew he was. "I remember… I just…. wasn't paying attention."

"As always," Drag Strip snapped. His flames were now blazing hot, and the bond felt uncomfortable as slag washing over Wildrider.

"I didn't mean to," Wildrider tried to add, but Drag Strip had already turned his back on him and was walking towards Dead End.

Wildrider vented tiredly before he felt Breakdown's servo brush his shoulder plate with the lightest touch of his digits. "Ignore him, 'Rider. Drag Strip's just stressed out and you're not stupid. F...f-far from it."

Breakdown's bond nudged against Wildrider's and, with it, a gentle calmness stilled Wildrider's thoughts. He glanced over to Breakdown and gave him a shaky smile, though it wasn't his normal full smile - not even close. Breakdown stayed beside Wildrider for a nanosecond longer before he hurried to Drag Strip's side, who was arguing with Dead End.

Finally Dead End relented to Drag Strip's demands, though Wildrider noticed that his brother made no bones about how "pointless" he felt removing their transponders were. Sometimes Dead End sounded crazier than Wildrider, in his opinion. Even he knew that it was better that they were cloaked, as best as they could be, from the Decepticons. But then, Dead End always sounded like he wanted to be deactivated, the miserable lugnut.

Wildrider watched as Breakdown directed Drag Strip in the removal of Dead End's transponder, a slow, methodical process that made Wildrider itch. If it took this long to remove their transponders and he had to sit still for that long, he'd go stir crazy. Wildrider wasn't made to sit still, especially not when his brothers were digging their digits into his chassis. The idea of getting his transponder removed wasn't such an interesting idea anymore.

Dead End let out a growl of pain that scythed through the air, then grunted a response to Drag Strip and Breakdown that sounded quite terse. Drag Strip scowled and turned his back on Dead End before he approached Motormaster.

The semi tensed up as Drag Strip stopped in front of him and, to Wildrider's surprise, rapped his knuckles against Motormaster's badge. Motormaster glared down at Drag Strip but made no move to strike the race car.

"Damage anything useful, Drag Strip, and I will grind you into sand," Motormaster threatened.

"I know," Drag Strip replied before he positioned his digits around their leader's Decepticon badge and slowly began tearing it from his chassis.

Wildrider winced as he saw Motormaster's jaw clench and his optics darken with pain. He was in noticeable pain, even for Motormaster being the toughest of the Stunticons physically. Wildrider cast a worried glance towards Breakdown, who was plucking the transponder wires from Motormaster's protoform, then Dead End.

Dead End was brushing at his scarred chassis with a sorrowful look in his optics, but he sensed Wildrider's gaze and turned his helm up to meet the Ferrari's gaze. _::. You will be fine. It hurts, but it is no worse than any of the times Motormaster beat us. .::_

 _::. That's comforting! .::_ Wildrider snapped. Dead End's logic never made sense to him - never. No normal mech would be fine with excruciating pain, least of all Wildrider. He hated pain, and hated how quickly the voices in his processor would invade his thoughts when he was in pain.

_::. If you wanted comfort, Wildrider, you should ask Breakdown. .::_

Wildrider glared at Dead End, then turned away from the Porsche with a scowl. He usually didn't mind Dead End _that_ much but, sometimes, Wildrider couldn't help but hate his brother. Dead End's constant degradation of his own worth and the point of everything really scraped Wildrider wrong.

Even Drag Strip's constant self-worship and preening was more tolerable than Dead End, not that Wildrider would ever tell Drag Strip that.

"Alright, 'Rider, you're next."

Drag Strip's words drew Wildrider's gaze to his brother, who was approaching him with energon soaked digits. Wildrider fidgeted in place as Drag Strip and Breakdown positioned themselves so that they were hovering mere macrometers from Wildrider's chestplate.

Drag Strip raised his energon soaked digits over Wildrider's faction symbol then looked him directly in the optic. "It will hurt. If you scratch my paint in retaliation I will make you _pay_ for it."

Wildrider jerked his helm in understanding then turned so that he did not have to watch Drag Strip dig his sharp digits into his chassis. A few moments of no pain passed and, just as hope began to pulse in Wildrider's spark, he felt fire lance through his chest.

His vents heaved and hissed, and his fans activated in a frantic whine as he felt Drag Strip's digits spearing through his chassis. Wildrider wanted to punch out, to throw Drag Strip and the pain away, to protect himself-

 _::. You're alright. Vent. Only a little bit longer. Just vent. .::_ Breakdown sounded so _calm_ over the bond, like a meadow with a brook running through it.

Wildrider dove into his brother's bond, sheltering there amongst Breakdown's empathy, until he finally felt Breakdown rouse him out of the bond. He was nervous to look at the silver plating of his chestplate where his faction symbol had been. Wildrider didn't have an aversion to seeing spilled energon, so long as it wasn't his own.

"Oh stop being silly!" Drag Strip suddenly snapped before he gave Wildrider a cuff over his helm. "You're fine, 'Rider."

"Well, you aren't deactivated yet, so you are fine to that degree," Dead End added unhelpfully.

Wildrider scowled in Dead End's direction before he looked down at his chestplate where the Decepticon symbol had once been. His fans ticked on as his optics flickered over the torn metal where his symbol had once been. Energon leaked from the distressed metal in a bright blaze of blue that glowed brightly in the cave's shadows. Curiously, Wildrider poked at his chest plate, though the scrap of his claws over his chassis made a flare of pain jerk through his fuel lines.

 _Idiot_.

Wildrider paid only just enough attention to his brothers to hear Drag Strip coerce Dead End into helping remove the Tyrell's and Breakdown's locators, though he was too distracted by the torn metal of his chestplate to watch. After what seemed like _groons_ , Wildrider heard his brothers' voices grow sharp and restless.

Drag Strip argued with Motormaster - well, it seemed more like a one-sided argument on Drag Strip's that Motormaster didn't seem invested in - until the race car let out a low growl from his engine.

"We are only a few hours from the energon mine in Denali. When I last worked the comms for that mine, it sounded like it's not highly guarded," Drag Strip said as he paced in the cave, back and forth.

"The only reason there would not be a heavy guard is because the mine would have little resources to offer to Megatron. But there might be enough to tide us over for a few solar cycles.

"With our transponders removed, we should have enough time to hopefully avoid detection from the Decepticons. I'm going to bury the transponders in the back of the cave, and hopefully the signals from them will remain undetected for at least a few more groons."

Drag Strip stopped pacing and slowly turned his visored helm towards Wildrider, then Breakdown. There was a frustrated set to his jaw, and Wildrider could feel his brother's stress rolling off his yellow chassis in waves.

"Our alt modes will stick out here in Alaska, especially if we travel together… we will have to split up-"

"No, we will not." Anger, and something Wildrider couldn't decipher, bristled off Motormaster as the semi hauled himself to his pedes and met Drag Strip's gaze.

Drag Strip crossed his arms over his chest as Motormaster turned his gaze to each Stunticon then, with the semi's intakes hissing, let a vent escape.

"You four will stand out far more than my alt will," Motormaster sounded tired, but determination was steeling his bond, "so I will carry all of you in my trailer. Wildrider and Drag Strip, you two are the lightest, so you're going to have to park on the top level."

"Got it, boss," Wildrider smiled. He liked when Motormaster acted like himself, and bossing his brothers around felt normal.

Motormaster stared at Wildrider for a moment before he rolled his optics and turned to Drag Strip again. "Give me the coordinates for the mine and we will head out in a few _kliks_."

"Yes sir," Drag Strip grumbled, his field a storm of frustration that lingered like spilled oil through the bond.

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

The confined quarters of Motormaster's trailer were grating at Wildrider. He had never liked enclosed spaces, especially spaces made up of his grumpy bond mate. He wanted to drive, to feel his wheels spinning underneath him. Wildrider didn't want to be stuck in the trailer any longer, he wanted out-

" _For the love of- SHUT UP! We aren't going to get there any faster if you keep asking if we're there yet!"_

Motormaster's roar nearly shook the trailer off its wheels, though it worked in focusing Wildrider on something other than his erratic thoughts.

"But I'm getting antsy! I want to drive…"

" _We all want to, Wildrider, now would you_ please _shut up?"_ Drag Strip snapped over the comms. He sounded so angry, Wildrider was almost convinced the Tyrell would just shoot him right there in the trailer without any second thought.

"Okay, okay… sorry…"

Wildrider stayed quiet for a few _kliks_ , for as long as he could hold out-

"Are we there yet?"

Dead silence then, finally, Motormaster - sounding _way_ too calm - hissed out a "yes."

Immediate relief swamped Wildrider and, before the trailer gate was fully lowered, he vaulted over Drag Strip and hit solid ground once again. He could not restrain himself from spinning donuts in the dirt until he felt his back end smash against something hard - and very, very _grumpy_.

Motormaster glared down at him before the semi jerked a servo towards the gaping maw of a cave. "Get inside before I make you eat your tires."

"Uh, yes, sir!" Wildrider squeaked before he floored it into the dark cave, though he stopped a few feet from the entrance.

A moment later, Motormaster and Drag Strip walked in, while Breakdown and Dead End drove into the cave in their alt modes. Motormaster stopped and gave a suspicious glance through the cave, before he snarled under his breath and nodded.

"Lead the way, Drag Strip."

* * *

Motormaster's wheels rumbled over the highway, echoing through the trailer as they left Alaska. They'd been able to find unrefined energon crystals, buried within the cave, but it had taken them forever to remove the crystals safely from the cave.

Wildrider was _glad_ to be back in Motormaster's trailer, if only because the cave had made his plating crawl with its suffocating darkness.

" _Good plan, Drag Strip,"_ Motormaster growled through the radio. For some reason, Wildrider thought he detected a hint of surprise from the semi and, was that pride?

" _Of course it was,"_ Drag Strip preened. He sounded much happier now, and even the yellow race car's side of the bond seemed less fragile now, less shattered.

" _But we still have the Decepticons to worry about,"_ Dead End reminded the group quietly, " _and the crystals are going to be poor fuel for us, compared to processed energon."_

" _As if we didn't know that,"_ Drag Strip grumbled hotly, " _and what's our other option? Using human refueling stations? I think not…"_

 _::. You doing alright, 'Rider? .::_ Breakdown's voice distracted Wildrider from the good natured argument between Drag Strip and Dead End. _::. I sensed the cave was scaring you. .::_

_::. Yeah, not a fan of dark places and all. But I'm doin' just fine now! Those unrefined crystals were nasty, but it's nice not being so… hungry. .::_

_::. I get what you mean, but… .::_

Breakdown cut himself off, though what he left unsaid was quite clear to Wildrider - and he felt the same worry. Motormaster was still… off, and they were on an aimless journey with their only goal being hiding from the Decepticons.

How long were they going to run?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, when I originally wrote this story in September, was supposed to be longer but I was never able to get into Dead End's head before writer's block hit.
> 
> Transformers © HASBRO

He had always believed they would be deactivated, but _this_ wasn't how he'd imagined they would perish. Stranded with only his gestalt to keep him company and with no provisions.

Dead End was not pleased by the situation. He had no datapad to peruse for light reading, nor his rotary buffer or polish, and energon? _Ha_! They wished.

They were all starving, though Motormaster pretended that he wasn't - the stupid, stubborn fool - and what little energon they had stolen from one of the Decepticon mines had been hard and in its crystal state. They'd already gone through all of those shards of energon, and it had been very little gains for what they had expended to get the unrefined crystals.

The Stunticons had even been reduced to refueling at human gas stations for Primus' sake. Gas stations! The mere thought of the dirty pavement and the dirty fuel pumps and the dirty humans still made Dead End almost want to purge.

But Dead End felt as normal as he could expect, all things considered, but he knew that his brothers didn't share the same apathy for their situation.

Breakdown and Motormaster had gone through their natural energon reserves faster than any of the others, and both were showing ill effects for it. Both had had their forcefields manually offline solar cycles ago, leaving both vulnerable to attack, all because their systems were trying desperately to conserve energon.

Motormaster had grown listless and was hard to motivate to do anything, and the semi's attitude had only worsened. The semi lost his temper quicker than ever before, and over much smaller incidents than before. But, strangely enough from Dead End's perspective, Motormaster had never raised his servo against anyone since he'd struck Drag Strip on their first night of exile. Motormaster had raised his servo to strike Dead End a few solar cycles ago, but something had stopped Motormaster. Dead End had seen some strange flicker of emotion in Motormaster's optics before the semi had vented and lowered his fist to his side.

Breakdown, in comparison, hardly moved a piston anymore and his color had dulled considerably. The white mech had taken to spending every moment of the solar cycle either in recharge or delved deep into the gestalt bond. Dead End knew that Breakdown would be the first to perish, a fact that did not sit right with Dead End.

 _Which makes no logical sense of reason_ , Dead End chided himself.

Why should he be bothered by one of his brothers deactivating when the inevitability of all their deactivations hung over his helm cycle by cycle. He shouldn't care but he _did_. Dead End hated the fact that he wanted to live solely because of his brothers - yes, even Motormaster - and that annoying feeling had grown stronger during their exile.

A sudden crack of a rifle split the air, shattering Dead End's thoughts as Motormaster suddenly staggered. Immediately, even with his fuel pumps at minimal and his processor working sluggishly, Dead End whirled around and fired in the direction of the shot. Satisfaction curled across his faceplate as he recognized Brawl's pained snarl, but that only lasted for a nanosecond.

By then his brothers had scrambled to their pedes, all with their weapons drawn, and ready to flee, but Dead End knew their chance of escape had long fled.

"Well, well, that was a very clever trick tearing out your transponders. I didn't think any of you were smart enough to even remember that fact, let alone that you could last this long."

Megatron strode from the trees, the Combaticons flanking him, and stopped some feet from the Stunticons, a satisfied smirk hooked across his faceplate. Onslaught had his arms crossed over his chest plate, but Dead End could _feel_ the hatred pouring from the Combaticons.

Motormaster snarled and stepped in front of his brothers, his sword's point lowered to the ground, though Dead End knew the semi was very, very fast with that blade - and Motormaster hated Megatron more than he did his brothers now. "We aren't going down without a fight, Megatron."

"Oh, I know that full well. I made you, after all."

Brawl and Onslaught moved so suddenly that Dead End had only the flash of their paint jobs to watch before Motormaster was pinned underneath the tank and missile launcher, the semi spitting and snarling hate filled bile towards the Combaticons and Megatron. Megatron looked down at Motormaster and let out a cold snort.

"I still have a score to settle with you, Motormaster, but you will have to wait." With those words, Megatron's optics snapped suddenly to Dead End and his brothers, and it was as if Dead End could not move.

He wasn't afraid of Megatron. He couldn't be! Dead End didn't care if he perished, he didn't- _Oh, Primus, help us!_

"You want a fight," Drag Strip suddenly snapped as he shoved Dead End out of the way - and purposefully gave him a shove that sent him out of the Combaticons' range - and faced Megatron, "you got one."

Megatron raised an optic ridge at Drag Strip's challenge, then smirked. "Very well."

Though the Stunticons had been made as fully built warriors, they were still young, and it was that inexperience that cost Drag Strip. The racecar drew his gravity gun but, by the time he'd raised it level, Megatron's cannon had already gone off, blasting a hole through Drag Strip's chestplate.

Drag Strip faltered, his legs wavering and servo loosening so that his gun fell to the ground beside him, and staggered backwards. Distantly, Dead End registered the roar from Wildrider before the Ferraii lunged forwards, only to be slapped away by Megatron before the Decepticon leader shot Drag Strip in the chest twice more.

By the third shot, Drag Strip was flung away from the Decepticon, his chassis hitting the ground yards away with a resounding crash. And, with his crash, came the agonizing tearing of pain and fire and shattered chest plates and torn metal through the bond.

Dead End attempted to power through it, but he could only fire harmlessly at Megatron, who seemed so unfazed it was almost laughable. But then, a different and all together aching pain split Dead End's processor - and every other mech's.

He was used to Breakdown's engine malfunctions by this point but each time the nervous Lamborghini went off, it still hurt like all of the Pit. And this time was no different.

But it was the Stunticon closeness that helped them recover faster, and enabled Motormaster to throw Onslaught and Brawl off himself. The semi's sword slashed through Brawl's chestplate before Motormaster lunged towards his brothers and, with a desperation that rang through the bond, ordered them to combine.

Dead End's chassis shifted almost immediately, though he - and Menasor - knew something was very wrong. Signals and blares and pain and - _Drag Strip_ \- were coming from Menasor's right arm-

Drag Strip was screaming through the bond, his metal warped-

Menasor roared at the Combaticons and swung his sword-

_::. We're dying We're dying We're dying We're dying We're dying We're dying We're dying- .::_

The combiner's sword cleaved through trees, just barely missing Swindle and Vortex, before the helicopter shot past his helm with his gun blazing. Menasor snarled and swung his sword after the agitating pest-

_::. Holy Primus, help! .::_

Menasor staggered, his thoughts and control over his components vanishing as Drag Strip's agony overtook all his programming. The combiner froze midstep, his optics unfocused and whirring around the battlefield crazily.

And then the sudden, concusssive boom of Blast Off's orbital cannon tore through the night. Instant agony shot through Menasor, and all support from his left leg vanished as Wildrider was shot away from the combiner, his tiny gray frame smoking.

Menasor let out a roar - _no one hurts Menasor!_ \- but he could not move. Nothing responded to his scattered thoughts, and his processor was going haywire with too many shorted connections and overlapping voices from his components.

Dead End was aware suddenly of being shot, of the tearing of metal and the detachment from Menasor before he slammed to the ground in a heap. His sensors detected an open cavity in his chassis, though it was nowhere near damaging enough to solely offline him - yet.

He heard Megatron snort, heard the cannon powering up-

"I would step away from them, Megatron."

_What?_

_Optimus Prime?_

Dead End turned his helm sluggishly and watched as Optimus Prime and what looked like every single Autobot, emerged from the forest. The Combaticons froze in place and then gathered close together, the snarl of their vents audible even from the distance between them and Dead End.

Megatron scowled as he deactivated his fusion cannon and turned to face Prime. "If it isn't Optimus Prime. What brings you here, to Decepticon business?"

"The fact that it is Decepticon business is enough to bring me here," Prime said levelly. "You are outnumbered, Megatron, and it would be wise to withdraw from here now."

"Or?" Megatron snapped.

Optimus Prime narrowed his optics before he stepped face to face with Megatron. Megatron met Prime's optics before he suddenly let out a snarl and turned, gesturing for the Combaticons to retreat.

As Onslaught and his team faded into the trees, Megatron shot the Stunticons one last glare before he curled his lip and snarled lowly. "This isn't the last you've seen of me, Motormaster."

And then he was gone, as if the Decepticon leader had never been there.

Dead End tried to move but his processor only barked a long string of warnings at him that made him lose focus. He was quickly falling into stasis, but he strained to stay awake, lest the Autobots attempt to offline his brothers-

He could tell that there was a conversation happening between Motormaster and Optimus Prime, and that Breakdown… had joined in…

A strain of pain flared through the bond, sickening yellow and blistering, before stasis claimed Dead End with a vengeance.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Motormaster is far more interesting to write than I would have originally thought.
> 
> Transformers © HASBRO

He had been forged to hate.

And hate was all he knew, all that ever seemed _right._ Of course he hated the Autobots, how could he not when he had been made with only one purpose - destroying Autobots - in mind? But Vector Sigma had made him hate and burn and loath and rage so thoroughly, so madly, that he didn't know what to feel _but_ anger. If he had been forged to hate, what was he when all he felt was a cloying feeling of being lost?

Motormaster hated the indecisiveness that had plagued him since Megatron had forced his hand, and he and his Stunticons had fled from the Decepticons. He wasn't a tactical strategist like Onslaught by any means, but Motormaster had never been indecisive _once_ since Megatron had forged him. The feeling was alien, absurd even!

Motormaster had been _made_ as a Decepticon, the choice of faction was not one he or his brothers would know or even thought of. They had all been forged personally by the leader of the Decepticons, and then spurned out of their faction by the very mech who had created them.

It slagged him the frag off, this unwelcome and unwanted feeling of being lost. And it only magnified as he sat in the _Ark_ 's brig. He'd expected the Autobots to deactivate his brothers and himself the moment the Decepticons had fled from their fight. But they hadn't - Optimus Prime had even seemed unwilling to finish the job Megatron and his soldiers had failed to do.

Which was stupid, Motormaster snarled to himself, because he was Optimus Prime's rival. His enemy. Why didn't Optimus Prime want to deactivate him? Autobots made no sense to Motormaster, no sense at all.

But the fact that Motormaster had been coerced into allowing the Autobots to incarcerate his team, in exchange for their Chief Medical Officer helping his injured team, made even less sense. It hadn't been _his_ decision to listen to the Autobots' offer - he didn't trust the Autobots as far as he could throw Menasor - but that _damned_ combiner's and Breakdown's ideas.

Breakdown had practically begged Motormaster to listen to the Autobots when Optimus Prime had offered to help Drag Strip, Dead End and Wildrider. The argument between them still rang in the back of Motormaster's helm, scrapping like steel wool against his instincts. He'd never listened to the ideas that his team brought up before, but then _he_ was the leader of the Stunticons, not Drag Strip or Breakdown or Dead End.

He wasn't supposed to listen to them, Megatron had always told Motormaster that it was only Motormaster who made the decisions for the Stunticons. He was their leader and they were supposed to obey Motormaster, not the other way around. The leader of a Decepticon unit was not supposed to listen to the begging of his anxious teammate and _agree_ to trusting his sworn enemies.

Motormaster's programming had been in a fritz since he had attacked Megatron back on the _Victory_ to protect Breakdown. He was supposed to be loyal to Megatron - it was how Motormaster had been created - and the loyalty coding the Decepticon leader had implanted within him was supposed to take precedence over anything.

And Motormaster had believed that the truth, until the gestalt bond had made it clear what took precedence. It had tolerated his method of curbing his team's craziness and disobedience - and why shouldn't it have? Beating his team was the only method he knew, the method Megatron had shown him - until Megatron had ordered him to deactivate Breakdown.

There had been no second thoughts about deactivating his own teammate, not when Megatron had ordered it. Motormaster had been nanoseconds from deactivating Breakdown when the gestalt bond crippled his coding and struck him immobile. His systems had blared warnings and burned with such furious fire that he hadn't been able to block off the full brunt of the gestalt's fury.

The gestalt's fury was beyond even Motormaster's, blistering through him until all he could hear was Megatron's faint voice and the deep snarl of Menasor. He'd never heard Menasor's voice so clearly before, but he'd recognized the heavy, dark rumble immediately.

 _::. THE GESTALT SUPERSEDES ALL .::_ Menasor had snarled and, from all Motormaster could tell, his coding had realized that it had been overwritten. The gestalt superseded all other coding, even Megatron's loyalty coding.

The gestalt ruled all.

So when Megatron had raised his fusion cannon to destroy Breakdown, there had been no hesitation in Motormaster to tackle Megatron. Breakdown was gestalt - _his_ gestalt - and he would protect him from all threats, _including_ Megatron.

But, for as much of his coding had changed since Menasor had prevented him from deactivating Breakdown, Motormaster was still confused and lost and frustrated. He wasn't loyal to Megatron anymore, but that didn't change the fact that he had been _created_ as a weapon for the Decepticon cause.

Before, he'd accepted his creation as an honor. He was special, his entire team was special, created by the leader of the Decepticons to fight the Autobots as ruthless soldiers capable of combining. Motormaster had been proud of his position, proud to serve the Decepticons, and it had all ended too suddenly.

Motormaster wasn't like Wildrider, where he could adapt quickly to situations, nor was he as smooth talking as Drag Strip or Dead End. He wasn't made for anything but a weapon for the Decepticons. He wasn't even strong enough to lead his team.

It had been Breakdown's idea to remove their transponders and Drag Strip's to find energon mines to harvest raw crystals from. Dead End was always alert, always vigilant, even when he bemoaned the point of it. And Wildrider had fought like a mech possessed to protect his brothers.

Motormaster had been none of that. He'd been less of a leader than Drag Strip since his team had fled the _Victory_ , all while he wallowed in his thoughts. What kind of a leader was he?

_A useless one._

Air hissed from his intakes as the semi let out a long vent and stared up at the ceiling of his cell. A flicker of movement in the corner of his optic snapped Motormaster's gaze to the Autobots guarding the brig where he and Breakdown were locked up.

A rumbling anger snarled from the depth of his bond as he recognized Silverbolt and Ironhide, both of whom were talking to each other quietly. Menasor did not like any of Superion's components, an opinion Motormaster shared with the combiner. But the anger seethed away as Motormaster sent a purposeful glance around the cell and crossed his arms.

 _We're all stuck here,_ he reminded the combiner tersely.

Menasor didn't respond, though Motormaster didn't expect the combiner to - for as used to the combiner's presence within the bond as Motormaster had become, it was still quite rare for the combiner to converse with him. The longest conversation he'd had with the combiner - if he could even call Menasor's fractured replies a conversation - had been about the Stunticons, and how Menasor couldn't converse with the others as he could Motormaster. Usually all he could sense from Menasor _was_ his presence, rough and harsh and young, and little else.

He'd approached both Scrapper and Onslaught to see if either of them experienced the same with their respective combiners, though in a very roundabout way so that neither would figure out the reasoning behind Motormaster's questioning, but neither had claimed similar circumstances. Onslaught tolerated Motormaster only because of the loyalty coding, but he had made his interest in discussing combiners with Motormaster quite clear. Scrapper, on the other servo, had only given Motormaster a long suffering look before he'd denied ever having any conversations with Devastator.

So Motormaster did not ask again, and none of his research brought up any answers. But… Motormaster narrowed his optics towards Silverbolt before he felt a slight frown tug at his mouth.

The Autobots were his enemy, not 'bots he could just easily converse with about gestalt and combiner technology. Least of all because his pride refused to accept the fact that he was stuck in the Autobots' debt. He hated them - that wasn't just coding, but the entire basis for his being created - but they were the only chance he and Breakdown had of helping their mortally injured teammates live. Motormaster had known that when Optimus Prime had offered peace, had seen the reality of it in the energon that pumped from Drag Strip's frame.

And therein lay another disquieting factor. He had been unable to follow the gestalt's directive in protecting Drag Strip from Megatron's wrath as he struggled, pinned underneath Onslaught and Brawl, and he was helpless but to watch as the leader of the Decepticons shot Drag Strip once, twice, three times directly in the chest. The bond had surged with agony as Drag Strip was flung backwards and crashed to the ground in a heap of battered yellow paint.

Motormaster had felt Breakdown's spark break moments before the Lamborghini's engine snarled and burst. The force of Breakdown's destructive shockwave had staggered Megatron and the Combaticons long enough for Motormaster to throw both Onslaught and Brawl off himself and, Primus damn the consequences, ordered his team to combine.

Motormaster had read enough literature on gestalts to know full well the dangers of combining with a mech as injured as Drag Strip. But it was the only option he could think of to protect Drag Strip and the others. Drag Strip was obnoxious but he was still one of the Stunticons, one of _his_ team. Menasor was a larger target but he had even stronger armor than any of his components, and the combiner did not know the meaning of _stop_ when it came to his components being in danger.

They had surprised Megatron by combining, but even Menasor's fury could not hold out when Drag Strip's dying bond shattered through the combiner's psyche. And then Wildrider was shot by Blast Off's orbital beam, and a shot from Megatron's fusion cannon blasted through Dead End. Even a fully fueled Menasor would have fallen, but this time, when Menasor fell apart, Motormaster was scared.

He had tried to stand, to fight to the death to protect his team, but he'd only slumped down beside his team uselessly. And he knew that his team would have been executed where they laid, had Optimus Prime not brought a force of his Autobots and chased off the outnumbered Decepticons.

He owed his team's lives, and his own, to the Autobots. Motormaster would have to cooperate with the Autobots until he was certain his three injured teammates would pull through.

A gentle nudge through the bond pulled Motormaster's attention away from his thoughts, drawn in to the depths of the bond. Breakdown's side of the gestalt bond was the only center he could focus on, as Dead End's was a weak, threading pulse where Drag Strip and Wildrider's bonds felt offlined and dull. Motormaster didn't like the emptiness anymore, and it made him grit his denta with worry as he tried to rouse a response from his three injured teammates.

 _::. They can't respond, .::_ Breakdown's voice was stiff with worry, and even though Motormaster could not see his teammate, he could feel Breakdown shaking through the bond. _::. I'm not certain that they are even online still. Drag Strip's… I'm worried, Motormaster. .::_

 _::. Calm down, Breakdown. .::_ Motormaster attempted to soothe the anxiety he could feel burning at the edges of Breakdown's bond with a softening of his voice and a pulse of what he hoped was calming energy.

But all he got in return was Breakdown's bond swallowing Motormaster's own in a dark pool of fear. _::. I am calm! .::_ Breakdown lied, his bond-voice higher than normal and strung through with panicked thoughts - _Drag Strip's frame graying, his red optics and smirk fading. Wildrider's last words the snarl of fury before Menasor had fallen, his engine no longer revving a challenge to his brothers._

 _Breakdown was alone in a vast, endless desert. He screamed the names of his brothers, but none of his brothers responded. His bond was broken, shattered by the loss of his brothers. He'd watched each of his brothers fall, and it was all_ his _fault. His frame shook and Breakdown collapsed, digits scraping against his helm-_

"BREAKDOWN!"

Motormaster did not realize he had roared out loud instead of through the bond, until he saw Ironhide's gun pointed directly at his faceplate. Silverbolt was standing just behind Ironhide, who was slowly relaxing his stance, though the Autobot still looked more than displeased, the Aerialbot's optics narrowed.

Embarrassment flashed through the bond from Breakdown, though it was more background noise than anything to Motormaster as he slowly raised his servos and met Ironhide's hard optics.

"Sorry."

Ironhide finally lowered his gun and stored it into subspace, though he did not leave Motormaster's cell as he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "While you are here, we will not tolerate your violent tendencies, Motormaster. I hear you yell at your teammate one more time and I will have Red Alert move you to solitary."

Anger sparked from Motormaster at Ironhide's tone, but he bit it down as he let a hiss of steam escape from his vents. "It was an accident. And I'm not… I don't have 'violent' tendencies."

"Sure you don't, kid," Ironhide scoffed before he activated a panel on the side of the cell that shifted the panels of the floor apart and, with a hiss of pistons, rose a table and two chairs, each across from the other.

Ironhide gestured towards the chair nearest Motormaster as the Autobot sat down in the chair opposite Motormaster. "Sit down, Motormaster. We have some things Optimus wanted us to discuss with you."

Hesitation sparked through Motormaster as he glanced between Ironhide, who was waiting with an ever growing expression of impatience, and Silverbolt, who was still standing behind Ironhide with that same serious expression on his faceplate. Internal warnings screamed at him to not trust the Autobots, but the stark images of his injured teammates made him push through that natural distrust.

Slowly, and with no undue caution, Motormaster lowered down into the chair and crossed his arms over his chestplate. "What do you want?"

"Why was Megatron aiming to execute your team?"

 _Getting down to business immediately? I thought Autobots were supposed to be better than Decepticons_ , Motormaster thought coldly. He could feel his plating bristling and it took all his concentration to keep his emotions from showing on his frame.

"Megatron wanted to deactivate a team of traitors," Motormaster said plainly - calmly, for him. He was almost proud of how bored he'd made the statement sound. Primus forbid the Autobots realize how _upset_ he was about the very nature of his statement.

Silverbolt tilted his helm to the side slightly, though the Aerialbot said nothing as Ironhide raised an optic ridge in disbelief.

"Care to explain _why_ Megatron would see your team as traitors?"

Motormaster shifted in the chair uncomfortably. He didn't want to tell the Autobots _that_ … not when he had to face their judging glares when he would have to explain that he _was_ going to deactivate Breakdown until the gestalt coding kicked in. Silverbolt might understand the gestalt coding, but neither Autobot would likely understand why Motormaster had been so willing to deactivate his own teammate.

But then they weren't Decepticons. They didn't understand the Decepticons, just as Motormaster did not understand Autobots. Silverbolt and Ironhide would never be able to understand how much Motormaster had respected - and, yes, worshipped - Megatron. But how could he not? Megatron had been his creator. It was only natural that Motormaster would try and impress his creator. Wouldn't the Autobots do the same for someone they respected?

 _::. Just tell them, .::_ Breakdown urged quietly. Motormaster felt a gentle nudge through the bond and, with his intakes hissing steam, Motormaster scowled.

He looked away from Ironhide and Silverbolt as he spoke, detailing every single decision that had led the Stunticons to the _Ark_. Motormaster tried to ignore the shifting of emotions on Ironhide's faceplate and the horror in Silverbolt's optics when he described following Megatron's orders to deactivate Breakdown. He didn't need to see their disgust to remember the shame that had been burning in his fuel lines since that day.

It was with more than just relief that hissed from Motormaster's intakes as he finished detailing the Stunticons' current situation and, trying to seem relaxed, he leaned back against the chair and met Ironhide's optics.

The red Autobot's scowl had lessened, though his expression was no less harsh as he gave a curt jerk of his helm. "I… see."

Without a second glance, Ironhide got up from his chair - Motormaster followed the Autobot's suit quickly - and deactivated the table. As the table and chairs receded back into the floor, Ironhide turned and left his cell, locking it once Silverbolt had exited behind him.

"What about my team?" Motormaster snarled before Silverbolt or Ironhide could get too far. "I need to see them!"

"That," Silverbolt spoke for the first time as the flier turned to face Motormaster, "is up to Ratchet."

Motormaster frowned and clenched his servos, though he knew better than to argue. "I, at least, would like to know their condition. They are _my_ team!"

"I know that," Silverbolt reminded, "I understand your desires, but Ratchet is still hard at work trying to stabilize your gestalt. You have only been here for a few hours and, though Ratchet is the best medic we know, he has not been able to stabilize your teammates in that time."

Anger hissed off of Motormaster's field as he met Silverbolt's optics - was that an _apology_ he saw in the Aerialbot's optics? - and snarled. "He better fix all of them."

"Ratchet will. Now," Ironhide snapped from behind Silverbolt, drawing Motormaster's gaze to the irritated field sparking off the red Autobot, "calm down and back off. We will report on your team's condition when Ratchet provides us with an update."

Motormaster scowled but he knew that Ironhide's response was the best he would get. A vent escaped from his intakes before the semi scowled and gave a stiff nod in response. He, like Breakdown, was worried about his three injured teammates and he did not like not knowing how each was faring.

"I will bring your energon rations in a few _kliks_ ," Silverbolt added a smile as he spoke, though it faded when Motormaster did not return the smile.

 _Don't trust Silverbolt!_ Screamed Motormaster's warnings, and they were ones he would heed without argument.

Silverbolt left, leaving Ironhide to watch the two incarcerated Stunticons. Motormaster crossed his arms over his chest and turned away from the Autobot's watchful gaze. Impatience began to tick away underneath his chestplate, bristling with sharp spines that forced his pedes into pacing around the confined cell.

He only stopped pacing when Silverbolt pushed a ration of energon through the refuel port, though Motormaster only sent Silverbolt a cold look. Silverbolt returned his look with a vent before he turned his back on Motormaster and rejoined Ironhide. Motormaster watched the two Autobots suspiciously before he picked up the small energon flask and chugged it down.

It was a small fraction of what Motormaster needed to be running at full strength, but the taste of the energon was sweet on his glossa. His systems begged for more energon, but Motormaster knew there was no point. He and Breakdown were prisoners of the Autobots, not guests. Autobots would _never_ give him more energon if he asked - Motormaster may have fled the Decepticons but he was certain the Autobots wouldn't see him as anything but a Decepticon.

Anyways, Motormaster knew that if the situations were reversed, he would never believe an Autobot claiming that they had left the Decepticons. And as hard as it was to admit, Motormaster knew he did not deserve the Autobots' trust. He'd hurt too many of them for that. No mech ever just forgave. It was never that simple.

_::. Motormaster? .::_

_::. Yes, Breakdown? .::_

_::. I'm glad you weren't hurt too. It's comforting knowing you, at least, are alright. .::_

_::. … oh, well… uh... .::_

Motormaster didn't know what to say to Breakdown. He knew that the Stunticons hated him - every time they combined it was made clear - and, before, Motormaster didn't care. He had had far more important things to worry about back then, and he'd wanted to impress Megatron in those cycles. But the last few weeks with his team had shown him that the Stunticons were the only ones he could rely on.

They were Motormaster's team and much more. He had always been possessive over the four smaller Stunticons and had taken their failures harshly - both against his team and, privately, against himself. Returning from battles or missions only to report his team's failure - _again_ \- hurt.

All Motormaster had wanted for his team was to be the most effective unit of soldiers in the Decepticon forces. But he'd failed that miserably. His team had never once tasted victory, never once triumphed in battle, and it was all because of how dysfunctionally the Stunticons worked together.

Breakdown, Dead End, Drag Strip and Wildrider hated Motormaster because of his treatment of them, and he loathed how much he had to face the jeers and taunts of the older Decepticons because his team failed. Vector Sigma had played a cruel joke on Megatron, and Motormaster and his team, when the super computer had given each Stunticon glitched processors.

Breakdown was paranoid and delusional, while Dead End was a snarky pessimist who made every Stunticons' mood sour. Drag Strip was arrogant, vain and self absorbed. Wildrider was insane and crazy and impossible to make stand still. Motormaster's team couldn't function like a normal gestalt, not when each of its members was more troubled by processor glitches than the last.

And Motormaster was no exception. His processor was fragged, though he hated to even think of the idea. He was supposed to be the strong Stunticon, the one who would go through fire and the Pit to protect his team, and not affected by the glitches of his processor.

But he was, he was just as fragged up as his brothers. Vortex had once mocked him for something small - the sound of his fans humming in his chassis - and it had made him snap. He was impulsive, Megatron had even scolded him for his rashness, and irritable to the slightest degree.

Motormaster was as irrational as Wildrider, but he was aggressive, unlike Wildrider. Wildrider enjoyed what he enjoyed, but none of his actions were motivated by aggression like Motormaster was.

" _You know, the humans have a term for your kind of mech, Motors. Sociopath!"_

The memory of Starscream's words always hovered, mocking Motormaster in the Seeker's high voice. He hadn't understood what Starscream had meant by calling him a sociopath, but Motormaster hadn't liked the way the Seeker had spat the word. And so, driven by curiosity and some desire to deny whatever Starscream had called him, Motormaster had researched the term - and was met with strange human terms that were illogical for a Cybertronian to have!

But he _was_ impulsive and irritable and he'd turned to manipulating his team's fears and glitches to motivate them into battle. But… he was a Decepticon, not some disgusting _fleshie_! The mere idea was ridiculous… but not as unlikely as he'd hoped.

And it was all Vector Sigma's doing.

Motormaster and _his_ team had seemingly been doomed to failure at creation… and he had no knowledge of how to fix his team. Megatron had told him, and shown Motormaster personally, how to deal with unruly and disobedient mechs and it was the method Motormaster believed in. Beat them down until they listen. It worked for Megatron, why wouldn't it for Motormaster?

The idea made logical sense, or had, while he'd lived on the _Victory_. Now, he wasn't so certain that Megatron's method of subjugation was right - at least, not for the Stunticons. Motormaster saw now that nothing had changed with his team. Beating them into the ground to try and block off his shame at their constant failures did nothing but worsen each of his brothers.

Breakdown got jumpier and more jittery by every solar cycle, and he'd never stopped his anxious stuttering or servo wringing after a good many beat downs by Motormaster. So Motormaster had only had to find new ways to try and wrestle with Breakdown's paranoia, and none had worked to fix the white mech. And Menasor got ever more panicky and distractable by the tiniest hint of a camera or lens, or even a flicker of metal in sunlight after Motormaster beat Breakdown.

Drag Strip's hatred of Motormaster became a dark thorn in the gestalt bond, and the yellow Tyrell had only ignored Motormaster commands the more the semi tried to tame Drag Strip's arrogance. That, or Drag Strip would do the complete opposite of what Motormaster had ordered. And so Motormaster beat the race car down without a second thought, and the cycle continued.

Motormaster had not recognized the change in Wildrider until he had sulked in that cave in Alaska, left to his thoughts without anyone to interrupt him. Wildrider was always loud and ready for action, but he'd become less and less stable over time. The Ferrari was quicker to snap at noises, his gun obliterating anything near to his gunmetal gray frame, and even Motormaster had noticed a shifting in Wildrider's gestalt bond. Wildrider was noisy and quiet, a storm of heaving seas that lingered unpredictably in the bond.

Dead End only got snarkier and more apathetic the more Motormaster hit the maroon car, and so did Menasor. Motormaster couldn't get the memories of Menasor refusing to fight and loafing about during a battle against Optimus Prime and the Aerialbots. Megatron had been so furious after the embarrassing display that he had beat Motormaster in front of every Decepticon in the _Victory_. His plating still rankled with embarrassment over the sneers and taunting laughter that had followed every hit from Megatron's servo.

And it had been that laughter that had driven his fist into Dead End's chestplate, over and over, until the Porsche had to spend an entire week in Hook's medical bay. Motormaster hadn't thought anything back then about making Dead End pay for their team's embarrassing display in battle, but there was shame now that lingered in his spark over what he'd done.

The Stunticons' hatred of Motormaster had ruined any chance of Menasor functioning properly, and Motormaster had to acknowledge that he was as much to blame for it as Vector Sigma was for creating the Stunticons with glitched processors.

_You ruined your team, you fool._

Motormaster vented slowly as he lowered himself onto the berth at the back of the cell and rubbed at his helm. He had not been made to feel shame or guilt, but it was there gnawing away at his spark, nestled beside his self doubt. He wasn't the strong Decepticon he'd been made to be, no, he was weak. Pathetic. A disgrace.

 _::. You're not weak, Motormaster. .::_ Breakdown interjected softly.

Motormaster flinched at Breakdown's interruption - he had forgotten that the white Stunticon was there - but he couldn't help but smile ever so slightly at his teammate's words. Breakdown always seemed to see the best in every Stunticon, even his own leader. Which Motormaster didn't deserve, not after how he'd treated them.

Breakdown's bond grew quiet for a moment before, with a soothing gentleness, Motormaster felt his teammate's gestalt bond smooth over his own rough bond. But there was worry within Breakdown's bond, directed towards the three quiet links from Drag Strip, Dead End and Wildrider.

_::. They will recover, Breakdown. .::_

_::. I hope so. .::_

Silence, but for the quiet clicking of the lights and Ironhide's fans, filled the cell block after some _kliks_ and even the bond. Motormaster knew Breakdown had fallen into recharge when he prodded the gestalt bond and got no response, but recharge was far away for Motormaster. It had always been.

* * *

His chronometer had told him that two solar cycles had passed since Ironhide had last talked to him, and that meant two solar cycles in which Motormaster did not know the condition of his three injured teammates. He'd stooped low enough to even beg Silverbolt to let him see his team, but the Aerialbot leader had only continued his mantra that Motormaster could not visit his team without Ratchet's permission.

Motormaster hated waiting, hated the inaction of not knowing-

"Good morning, Motormaster."

The level sound of Optimus Prime's voice jerked Motormaster up off the berth he'd been sitting on and to his pedes. Anger and rage and- he shoved all of his natural instincts deep within himself and, struggling with the revulsion choking his vocalizer, nodded slowly to the Autobot leader.

"Optimus Prime."

Prime smiled slowly before he gestured towards the door to Motormaster's cell briefly, then to Ironhide and Silverbolt, who were both standing behind the Autobot leader. "Would you mind if we spoke to you?"

"Yes," Motormaster grumbled under his breath bitterly. He didn't want to be interrogated again, least of all by Optimus Prime, but he knew there was little point to being divisive. Letting out a long vent, Motormaster turned a scowl towards Optimus Prime and his Autobots and shrugged his shoulder plates. "Fine."

Optimus Prime unlocked his cell door and slowly moved into the cell. Silverbolt and Ironhide followed behind him and stood, arms crossed and ready. Motormaster glared at both as Optimus Prime stopped a few feet from him - enough so that it would take at least two steps for Motormaster to reach the Autobot leader. Clearly, Prime didn't trust Motormaster, which was fine by him.

"How are you, Motormaster?"

"Fine," Motormaster snapped. "Though I would like to know how my team is doing."

The sympathy that flashed through Prime's optics shocked Motormaster, though he tried to hide his bewilderment with a scowl. Why would the Autobot feel sympathy for Motormaster? They were enemies, for Primus' sake! Optimus Prime didn't make any sense, damn him.

"I understand your worry, Motormaster-"

"Then let me see my team!" Motormaster snarled. Rage was darkening his vision, focusing it upon the one mech he hated more than he hated anyone else, and his _lies_. "You promised your medic would help them, but how am I to know you weren't lying? I want my TEAM!"

Without thinking - without even realizing what he was doing - Motormaster lunged forwards, grabbed Optimus Prime's throat and yanked the Autobot leader so that he was optic to optic with Motormaster.

"Let me see them _now_!"

Optimus Prime's optics suddenly shifted away from Motormaster, just as his audio receptors became aware of the sound of a gun charging to his side. Motormaster dropped Optimus Prime and whirled on Ironhide, who was mid-snarl when Prime's voice boomed through the cell.

"Ironhide, back down!"

Ironhide froze, his optics narrowed and his denta bared in a snarl, then slowly deactivated his gun and jerked his helm towards Optimus Prime. "But, Optimus! He-"

A look from Prime silenced Ironhide, though the red Autobot did not go without a choice swear aimed towards Motormaster. Optimus Prime turned away from Ironhide and back to Motormaster, who had taken a few steps back from the Autobots now that his processor had registered what he'd done, and vented softly. There was regret and a deep sadness within the Autobot leader's optics that made Motormaster's spark plummet into ice.

"Drag Strip, Dead End and Wildrider are still active, Motormaster. Dead End has been repaired but he was placed in a manual stasis, so that his nanites could finish his internal repairs in peace. Wildrider has been repaired but he has not shown any signs of consciousness. And Ratchet has spent a good portion of the last two and a half days trying to stabilize Drag Strip's condition. He has had no time to let you or Breakdown visit your injured teammates.

"But that is why I came today. Silverbolt has been informing me of how worried you and Breakdown have been for your gestalt, and I knew would not allow you to see them under normal circumstances… especially considering who you are."

Motormaster glowered at Optimus Prime, but it was not with the venom he would have had before leaving the Decepticons. He was desperate to see his injured teammates, and Motormaster had always been the one to do anything if he was desperate enough. "I just want to see them. _Please_."

"You can't be certain of this, Optimus! Motormaster is a violent, petulant monster! He just _attacked_ you!" Ironhide protested angrily.

Prime shook his helm in response then looked Motormaster directly in the optics with a steady expression. "I want you to see your team, but I have to have your guarantee that you will remain by Silverbolt, Ironhide and my side while we escort you and Breakdown to the medical bay. Do you understand?"

"Of course I do!" Motormaster snapped. "And you have my promise."

"Whatever good that means." Motormaster heard Ironhide grumble under his breath as Optimus Prime nodded and smiled in turn.

Motormaster glared down at Ironhide as Prime, Silverbolt and Ironhide turned and walked out of his cell. Optimus Prime turned back to Motormaster and gestured for him just as Silverbolt vanished from Motormaster's view. Warily Motormaster stepped forward and followed Prime and his Autobots out of his cell. He almost expected to be electrocuted the moment he stepped over the threshold of his cell but, much to his relief, no debilitating shock came.

A flash of white and blue was his only warning before Breakdown crashed against his chestplate, arms wrapped around him in a hug. Embarrassment flashed through Motormaster's spark - why did Breakdown have to hug him in front of the Autobots? - but he _was_ relieved to see Breakdown. Hearing and talking to Breakdown through the bond wasn't the same as seeing him physically.

He felt a smile tug at his mouth as he looked down at his gestalt member, but Motormaster quickly pushed Breakdown away from him before he looked _soft_ in front of the Autobots. Breakdown noticed the Autobots and froze, his optics snapping to Motormaster before he moved behind Motormaster and peered around him at Optimus Prime.

Optimus Prime never looked at Breakdown but Motormaster could tell that the reassuring smile on the Prime's faceplate was directed specifically towards Breakdown. "If you would, both of you, stay close to me until we reach the medical bay. And please, when we arrive, do not rush to your teammates until Ratchet allows it."

"Yes, s...s-sir," Breakdown stammered from behind Motormaster. Breakdown's fear was palpable and it choked at the gestalt bond, but Motormaster knew that Breakdown would not let his fear stop him from seeing Drag Strip, Dead End and Wildrider.

A nod from Prime finished the deal and, with Optimus Prime leading and Ironhide and Silverbolt taking the rear, the two Stunticons were led to the medical bay. Motormaster ignored the stares and mutters from the various Autobots they passed, though he could not help but snarl angrily when the group passed Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Sideswipe kept walking but Sunstreaker stopped, his optics following Motormaster and Breakdown with unbridled hatred before Optimus Prime led them around a hallway and Sunstreaker was lost from view.

 _::. I hate him, .::_ Breakdown squeaked through the bond, his digits tightening their grasp over Motormaster's arm as they continued to walk. _::. He's watching me. They're_ all _watching me! Stop them from staring at me, please! .::_

His teammate was panicking, and Motormaster was not deaf to the telltale ticking of Breakdown's engine starting its destructive shockwaves. If Breakdown lost it and let his engine burst, the Autobots would have little reason to tolerate Motormaster and the Stunticons and he doubted that Ratchet would hesitate to deactivate his injured teammates. Motormaster needed Breakdown to calm down, or they'd all suffer.

_::. Breakdown, you need to vent. Now is not the time. Pay attention to the bond and nothing else. Vent. You will be okay. I will protect you. Even… Optimus Prime won't let the Autobots hurt you. .::_

But Breakdown didn't seem to hear Motormaster's words, for his bond only flickered with panicked thoughts and scrambled words.

_::. Primus dammit, Breakdown! Calm down! Vent- Relax. He's gone. We're almost to the others, but you need to calm down. Please. .::_

Nothing.

Motormaster scowled and then released a vent that seemed to hiss from his every intake. _::. Brother. .::_

Breakdown's bond suddenly eased with a ripple of surprise - and was that _joy_? - before Motormaster heard Breakdown's thoughts cycle down. _::. You… you called me brother. You've never called any of us brother! Did you just say that to… no… you mean it. You mean it! .::_

The joy and shock and pleasure and surprise that radiated off Breakdown's bond was overwhelming, drowning all thought from the bond. Even the Autobots seemed to notice, for Ironhide grumbled something behind them and Optimus Prime shot Motormaster a look he couldn't read. Motormaster tried to urge Breakdown to temper his feelings, but the Stunticon didn't seem to hear him.

He gave up after a few nanoseconds and looked past Optimus Prime's helm just as they entered the medical bay. A few berths were lined up in orderly fashion, unoccupied but for the last three where the familiar frames of Drag Strip, Dead End and Wildrider were resting. There was a red and white Autobot crouched over Drag Strip's frame, a frame welder in his servo as he grumbled loudly to himself.

"Their frames are that of adults, but their systems and their minds are that of newsparks! What in the name of Cybertron was Megatron thinking, sending newsparks into war?"

The medic's words were laced with venom, more acidic even than some Decepticons, but it was less that than the term "newspark" that made Motormaster pause. He'd never heard any Decepticon use the term before, but even Motormaster wasn't oblivious enough to know that the term was not one taken easily by the medic. He was curious about what the medic found so wrong with his team's creation, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Ratchet? I have brought Motormaster and Breakdown to see their teammates," Optimus Prime spoke slowly, easily, but it did not stop the medic from jumping and glaring across the medical bay at the group.

Ratchet's optics narrowed fractionally as they passed over Motormaster and Breakdown, but then the medic let out a vent and turned back to his work on Drag Strip. "Keep them away from my work, and I'll be fine. I'm trying to save one of them, I don't need any distractions."

"Neither will be a bother, I promise."

Ratchet snorted at the Prime's reassurance, though it was clear the medic was ignoring Motormaster, Breakdown and the Autobots. Optimus Prime turned to Motormaster then jerked his helm in the direction of Dead End and Wildrider's prone frames.

"Ratchet has already agreed to allowing both of you to stay here for as long as you wish. He will kick you both out if you make too much noise, and in the matter of medical decisions, Ratchet takes precedence over even me."

Motormaster shot Breakdown a look and warned him to stay beside him through the bond, then nodded to the Autobot leader. "I understand. And… I appreciate you letting us see our teammates."

The Autobot leader nodded then, directing Ironhide out of the medical bay with a gesture from his servo, turned and left. Silverbolt still lingered in the medical bay, though the Aerialbot did not seem very interested in Motormaster or Breakdown.

"Come on," Motormaster growled as he gave Breakdown a gentle nudge on the shoulder plate and walked to where his brothers were in recharge.

Breakdown stuck to Motormaster's side as if he was glued there, until he could not wait by longer and scrambled to Wildrider's side. Fresh weld marks scarred Wildrider's gray chassis, and it was obvious by the missing paint on Wildrider's chestplate that he had been burnt badly by Blast Off's shot.

Dead End wasn't nearly as damaged in comparison to Wildrider, but the duor Stunticon sported fresh weld marks too. A restless scowl tugged at Dead End's lips and his digits twitched at jerking intervals. Motormaster didn't like seeing his teammates like this, not when he could do nothing but stand by his injured team and feel useless.

Motormaster vented slowly before he hesitantly reached for his teammate, and laid a reassuring servo on Dead End's shoulder plate. Dead End jerked away from Motormaster's servo with a noticeable hitch of his fans, whirring loudly as a heavy umbra of loathing and fear heaved from Dead End's field. Motormaster jerked his servo away from his teammate then shot Breakdown a frustrated glare.

"Get over here," he ordered quietly, no less sternly than usual.

Breakdown stared at Motormaster for a long _klik_ before he nodded and moved to the opposite side of Dead End and, with a gentleness that seemed so un-Decepticon-like, touched Dead End's shoulder plate. "You're safe, 'End. We're all safe. The Autobots are helping us. Motormaster and I are both here."

Dead End's fans finally slowed, easing slightly as Breakdown continued to quietly reassure his brother. Motormaster looked away from Dead End as the maroon Stunticon curled closer to Breakdown and let out a long, tired vent.

It was foolish of Motormaster to wish that the divide between his team and himself weren't so insurmountable, not when he'd never made the effort before to ever acknowledge what he'd done to his team. And the Stunticons weren't _just_ his team, they were his brothers.

He would have denied that truth on the _Victory_ , but not here, not even when he hated the vulnerability such a realization brought to him. His brothers were his strength _and_ his weakness, but he finally understood what was most important to him.

Slowly, Motormaster placed a servo on Breakdown's shoulder and sent a calming wave of reassurance through the bond. _::. We're in this together, Breakdown. Our brothers will recover, and then we will be free. .::_

Breakdown met his optics then nodded, a seriousness to his stance that would never have existed there before their exile from the Decepticons. Motormaster couldn't help but smile at his brother before he gave Breakdown a playful scruff on the helm.

"Let's check on Drag Strip and Wildrider."

* * *

"I am _not_ joining the Autobots," Drag Strip snapped again.

Weeks had passed since Motormaster's brothers had finally recovered and they were still arguing over their next step. Wildrider and Dead End didn't care if they joined the Autobots or not, while Drag Strip continued to argue against it hotly - though Motormaster was convinced most of the basis for his arguments were just to argue. He'd come to understand that Drag Strip wanted attention, and would do anything to get it.

Breakdown raised his servo hesitantly before speaking. "The minute we step outside, Megatron will be on us."

"Yeah, and?" Drag Strip snapped, though he sighed and slumped his shoulders before he let out a tired sigh. "Stop making sense, Breakdown."

"Uh…" Breakdown blinked and flushed before he scuffed his pedes and looked away from Drag Strip.

"There's endless energon here," Wildrider added sensibly, "we should at least stay long enough to stock up on that."

Motormaster had to look twice at Wildrider making sense. He knew that there was far more depth to Wildrider than he'd initially assumed but it was still very weird hearing him switch between crazy Wildrider and sensible Wildrider.

Dead End nodded agreement to the side before he shot Motormaster a look. "It is up to Motormaster what our next decision will be."

"I know," Drag Strip and Wildrider both sighed.

Motormaster almost chuckled at their tones before he shook his helm. "Any decision we make about this is up to all of us, not just me. All I know is that whatever we decide, we decide as a gestalt and travel as a gestalt. We are family, as the humans put it."

Breakdown smiled at his response before he nodded agreement. "I'm with Motormaster. Wherever we go, we go together. We're brothers - and always will be."

"Great," Drag Strip chortled, "a big happy road trip. Just what I want to do."

"A road trip sounds like fun!" Wildrider shouted as he bounced to his pedes excitedly. "Road trip, road trip, road trip!"

Motormaster shook his helm and smiled to himself. He had learned a lot since the Stunticons' exile, and even felt "happier" to some degree, but getting to know his brothers and care about them was the most important thing he'd learned. He would protect his brothers, even at the cost of his life, even if they annoyed him to the Pit and back.

They wouldn't be the Stunticons if they didn't drive Motormaster crazy every other day.


End file.
